


Pop the Top

by moor



Series: Smut Monday [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: ABO, F/M, Filthy, Knotting, Modern AU, Multi, PWP, Smut Monday, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moor/pseuds/moor
Summary: Itachi x Sakura x Madara. There were worse ways to celebrate their anniversary, but Itachi discovering he found his true mate leads to complications he and Sakura hadn't anticipated. Only Madara can help them out. Rated 'M' for explicit sexual content.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sariasprincy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sariasprincy/gifts).



> AN: So, this is the filthiest Smut Monday I’ve written in some time. There are elements of ABO and something that could be construed as dub-con towards the end. Warnings for language, too, and of course, this is obviously NSFW. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!... but maybe pull up a comfy chair because this is nearly 9.5K words. No lie.
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to @roadkill and @sariasprincy for their help this evening! (Happy birthday to you again, @sariasprincy!) All mistakes remain my own.

Madara’s ear caught the sound of the door opening before he felt the faint tendrils of the chilly breeze snake through the studio.

He continued snapping photos of his model, however, occasionally giving orders as to how to pose, how much skin to show, how far to unbutton the shirt or slide down the waistband.

The music was loud enough his model did not hear the visitor until her light footsteps skidded to a stop on the concrete floor at the opening of the partition.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for my—Itachi?” she gasped, hands flying up to her mouth. Her eyes widened as she took in his bare chest, open black button-up shirt, the jeans discarded nearby and his boxer-briefs tented promisingly.

Madara hid his smirk as he saw her jaw fall open behind her hands as she kept staring.

Meanwhile, Itachi had removed his right hand from inside his shorts and sat up from his reclined position on the couch, sending a warning glare at Madara as he stood.

“Am I late,” he asked, reaching down for his jeans and climbing into them.

Sakura’s eyes focused south of his navel and Itachi swallowed while Madara’s curiosity grew.

“Nephew, you never introduced us,” he said smoothly, stepping out from behind the camera. “I am Uchiha Madara,” he said, extending a hand to Sakura. “This is my studio.”

“Oh, hi… I’m Doctor Sakura Haruno,” she said vaguely, her cheeks still warm from the tantalizing vision of her boyfriend. “Sorry to interrupt. I was waiting outside but it was getting pretty late and you didn’t answer your phone,” she said, looking between Madara and Itachi.

“We missed the show, but I wondered if you still wanted to do dinner?” she asked Itachi.

“The…” Itachi’s face fell. “I’m so sorry, Sakura,” he said genuinely. “I promised my uncle I would help him with the test shots for his next magazine spread since the lighting was recently replaced throughout the studio. I lost track of time and he didn’t remind me even after I asked him to,” said Itachi, turning a glare on Madara. He looked around and saw on a prop clock that it was after ten pm; they’d long lost any chance of catching the play Sakura had wanted to see. Shame engulfed him.

“You were working out very well. My offer to model professionally still stands,” said Madara, ignoring Itachi’s tone. He looked at Sakura. “Was this a special occasion?”

“Our one-year anniversary,” said Sakura. “I took the night off work so we could go to the show, but… maybe next time,” she said, eyes downcast even as she forced a smile.

Madara watched Itachi’s face tighten with guilt, his Adam’s apple bob as he cleared his throat.

“I have a suggestion. You are welcome to decline my offer,” Madara began.

He had been studying Sakura’s fine-boned features, her naturally clear complexion, light makeup, rare colouring and rarer innocence. The swanline throat naked of jewellery and her gracefully upswept hair, and yes, they were matched by daintily fingered, manicured nails. Beneath her peacoat he noted she wore stockings and tall boots, and he swallowed a male groan of appreciation.

Itachi had chosen _very_ well, in his expert opinion.

“Let me order your meal delivered here, and while you wait I will take your portraits together, to commemorate,” Madara offered.

“Our reservation is valid, we’ll be on our way,” began Itachi, wrapping an arm around Sakura’s shoulder and turning her away from his uncle’s attention.

“I guarantee you any restaurant in Konoha will deliver to this studio; even better than the restaurant you have your reservation with,” said Madara. “And instead of being surrounded, you will enjoy your meal privately, without interruption.”

Sakura hesitated, looking over her shoulder at Madara.

“Can you really do that?” she asked.

Above her, Itachi glared at Madara and Madara knew something more was going on.

“The establishments in this city fall all over themselves to cater my shoots and events,” said Madara, lifting his phone out of his pocket. “Where was your reservation?”

“... _Akimichi’s,_ ” said Sakura, slowing to a halt and looking between Itachi and Madara.

Madara held up a finger, his phone already at his ear. She heard it dialing.

“.... yes, this is Madara…. And you, too… I understand you have a reservation for Uchiha Itachi and a Miss Haruno this evening… Yes… Yes, they’re going to be dining here. Would you mind—yes, at the studio… You’ll be right over with a chef’s selection?... Ah, I’ll let them know.”

The faint beep signaled the end of the call and Madara looked up to meet Sakura’s hopeful glow and Itachi’s forbidding stare.

Cocking his head to the side, Madara smirked at Sakura.

“Can I take your coat?”

“No,” said Itachi for Sakura, stepping protectively around her.

Itachi held Madara’s eye, the possessive warning in them clear. Then he turned to Sakura, the hardness around his dark eyes gentling, the lines around his mouth relaxing.

“Allow me,” he said in a low voice, reaching for her zipper.

He held her gaze as she nodded, then slowly unzipped her coat, drawing the heavy wool down her soft shoulders. His thumbs grazed the fluttering pulse at her throat as he stepped closer into her personal space.

As Itachi trailed his warm fingers down Sakura’s neck to lift her hair free, she leaned into his touch, instinctively turning her cheek into his open palm. Her blush soon had him returning her smile as her shoulders relaxed under his caress.

Knowing when to keep silent, Madara muted the sound on his digital camera and began casually shooting the pair of lovers, each subtle touch and gesture they made.

His nephew’s handsome features of pale, smooth skin and sinuous, firm muscle with his long dark hair provided a striking contrast with Sakura’s silver-sequined sheath dress and dove-grey pashmina scarf, her hair and eyes providing splashes of colour to offset the muted tones of her outfit. Madara’s hands itched to position the pair, the fallen angel and his captivating distant star, against a stormy background of gunmetal clouds and crashing waves, where both sky and sea reached for her and all that held her to the Earth was the unrelenting hold of her fallen lover…

Madara wet his lips as his imagination suddenly conjured piece after piece, campaign after campaign, masterpiece after masterpiece featuring his nephew and his... lover.

How interesting that Itachi had kept the news of his relationship a secret from the rest of the family, thought Madara. The woman was obviously of good standing going by the quality of her clothing and her excellent posture. As Itachi discarded more layers of her clothing she revealed a significantly healthy, limber form to his appraising eye. This Sakura was an educated woman, of good standing and excellent physique, and he wondered how Itachi had gained her attention.

And why Madara had never seen her before.

Then they walked together and Madara became entranced with how she _moved._

His fingers tightened their hold on the case of his camera. For the first time in years he yearned for canvas and brush and oils in every colour of the rainbow.

Her beauty captured his artist’s eye and his imagination bloomed with tableaux to display her natural beauty in all its glory. Her colouring alone conjured a dozen palettes and canvases to explore her every curve and shadow, and as she moved he noted her natural grace. She had a history of dance or perhaps martial arts, to move so lightly and sweetly, as if she were a forest nymph in human form.

Itachi bent his head lower and Madara strained to hear his words of apology once again as he nuzzled Sakura’s throat, ignoring Madara’s presence. As Madara’s dark eyes lingered on Itachi’s fingers tracing delicate trails along the back of her neck and spine, he realized that Itachi had tasted this woman, had drunk of her wine and was intoxicated with her; as intoxicated with her as he himself was.

This beautiful, pure forest spirit blossom…. Itachi had taken her.

Had tainted her.

Madara’s jaw tightened, his fingers still snapping picture after picture. Now Sakura’s hands were placed against Itachi’s chest, fingering the buttons he had not closed yet.

Daring to intercede, Madara moved closer, flirting with their personal bubble of space.

_Snap-snap-snap._

Sakura murmured something back to Itachi, lifting up on her toes to whisper back in his ear before kissing his cheek fondly.

Madara caught the exact moment Itachi’s cheeks warmed with a hint of a blush.

_She had a naughty streak?_

Madara’s fingers kept snapping.

When their foreheads met, Sakura’s tilted up, Itachi’s lowered to meet hers, and their gazes connected, the pureness of their love resonated so openly Madara’s fingers almost paused.

Almost.

_Snap-snap-snap._

“Relax over by the couch,” Madara said, his fingers rubbing against the buttons on his camera in an attempt to quell the rising urge to reach out and touch Sakura. “I’ll brew tea while we wait.”

At Madara’s words Itachi’s neck twisted and his gaze sharpened on his uncle.

Sensing the tension building between them—which she thought was strange considering Itachi’s state of undress and the nature of his pose when she first arrived—Sakura relaxed her grip on Itachi’s shirt and nodded at Madara.

“Thank you, Uncle Uchiha,” she said politely.

“Madara,” he replied, correcting her.

Sakura blinked her beautiful, leaf-green eyes before she gave him a tight smile. “Thank you… Madara.”

“My pleasure,” he purred, holding her gaze an extra moment longer than necessary before walking away towards the back of the sprawling studio where there was a small enclosed kitchen.

* * *

 

The moment his uncle was out of hearing, Itachi clasped Sakura’s shoulders.

“Do not trust him,” he said seriously.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” she argued, rose brows drawing together. “Is he really getting our supper delivered?”

“... yes, likely,” said Itachi with reluctance.

Sakura looked up and down at him.

“You missed the show,” she repeated.

Itachi’s shoulders slumped.

“I apologize. I set a reminder on my phone but didn’t hear it with the noise from the fans and the music.” He ran a hand through his loose ponytail. “Let me take you out. We can leave now and find something else—”  
  
Sakura shook her head.

“No… I… I’d like to have something of the two of us,” she admitted.

They stood there a moment in silence before Itachi bowed his head.

“Do not give him too much leeway,” he cautioned, looking into her eyes with open concern.

She smiled and shook her head.

“After what I saw when I walked in, it isn’t _my_ virtue I’m worried about,” she teased.

Itachi’s face remained studiously blank for a moment before he cracked a small smirk, the one he knew drove Sakura crazy; already her eyes were darkening.

“Jealous?” he asked, leaning closer to her, to share his warmth with her.

She tucked her hands into the back pockets of his jeans and tugged his hips closer to hers.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before with far less… wrapping,” she said slyly.

One of Itachi’s dark, silky brows rose in challenge.

“You would like less ‘wrapping’ then?” he asked, stepping backwards and leading her towards the black leather couch he’d been sprawled across when she first arrived. His hands guided her hips to follow his, step by step, until their feet dragged across the first layer of plush, creamy carpet.

“Shoes off,” said Itachi with a small smile.

Sakura arched a brow and withdrew her hands from Itachi’s back pockets. Then with a knowing grin she lifted the hem of her dress, just high enough to hike her left leg around Itachi’s hip.

“Could you get that for me?” she asked lightly.

Unwilling to trust his uncle entirely, Itachi glanced to the rear of the room. There was no sign of Madara, but Itachi doubted the man had gone far.

Itachi’s concerns were interrupted when Sakura’s heel dug into his calf before her foot snaked dangerously close to his inner thigh, rising higher and sending his good intentions plummeting.

He toed off his shoes before widening his stance and, holding Sakura’s gaze, his fingers began crawling down her hips following the seam of her dress. Over the folds he pinched and cinched higher a little at a time, until he skimmed his palm beneath her thigh and jerked her closer and rolled his hips into hers in a sinuous movement that had Sakura’s eyes fluttering and her cheeks warming.

“Almost there,” he said quietly, dangerously, tickling the bare skin above her silky stockings.

Sakura’s breath hitched as he caressed her muscled legs, down past the sensitive area behind her knee before unzipping her boot and sliding it down her calf and ankle to fall to the floor.

“One down,” he murmured, his lips against her ear.

He wrapped the hand that removed her boot around her thigh to squeeze her warningly when she mewled, then around her hips to hold her close.

“I think I need help with the other one,” she said cheekily against his ear, before kissing him down his throat to lick at his collarbone.

Then she rolled her hips into his with a tiny, breathy sigh.

Sakura bit her lip at her smile when she felt him tense against her.

The boot slid down faster than the first and Itachi dragged her up his hard body, his hands beneath her backside as Sakura wrapped her legs around his hips and her lips around his pulse. Her arms encircled his neck and her fingers wove through his hair and Itachi knew in no time she would free his ponytail and use his long hair to control him and keep him where she wanted him. He bit back a groan in anticipation; his lover was demanding and he enjoyed it when she told him what she wanted.

Backing them across the plush carpet, Itachi took another moment to scan the room. Still no Madara. Around them the music got louder, and Itachi knew his uncle was up to something.

But then Sakura murmured against his ear, _“Itachi,”_ and the wantonness of her voice distracted him again.

“We aren’t alone,” he reminded her, though his hands rubbed and squeezed at her stockinged legs.

“We are for now,” she murmured, pressing her chest into his. She ghosted her lips across his ear as she trailed her fingers down his chest. _“Guess what I’m wearing under my dress.”_

Itachi’s heart beat stronger inside him.

“The red?” he asked, voice thick. The back of his legs bumped against the couch and he sat down, Sakura’s legs spread around him. The warmth of her core could be felt through the material of his jeans, now, and the faint scent of her arousal made his mouth water. His hands gripped her hips tighter instinctively as he held back from simply lifting her up, throwing her legs over his shoulders and devouring her the way he longed to.

She shook her head.

“The black,” he asked, huskier.

She shook her head again, and he heard the smile in her voice when she made a negative sound in her throat.

“The satin?” he begged.

Then his breath caught when he felt her nimble fingers reached down, down, down slowly between them to his belt.

“Sakura—” he hissed between his teeth, panic flooding him with adrenaline. His eyes widened and he glanced to the side. Had he heard a noise from that direction?

Where was Madara? He was being far too quiet.

But Sakura’s ministrations as she undid the notch on his belt, then the top button of his jeans, then dragged down his fly had him swallowing.

“Relax, he isn’t here,” she shushed him, rising up a bit on his lap to give herself some room. Her dress and Itachi’s arms hid her intentions from anyone who may spy them from a distance, anyway.

It was why she’d chosen this dress, after all.

“Look at me, Itachi,” she said, leaning over him and kissing his lips.

Then, beneath the pseudo-privacy of her filmy, sequined dress, she ran her fingers across the placket of his underwear, tracing him from root to dampening tip.

His hands lowered from her hips to her arse and squeezed in appreciation.

Closing the distance between them to hide her actions, Sakura rested her head on Itachi’s shoulder and began murmuring in his ear.

“I liked what I saw,” she whispered, palming him growing erection. “Would you model for me like that?”

Itachi’s abdomen jumped as he felt Sakura sliding her other hand up beneath his shirt to trace his muscles. A half-second later she spread open the gap in his underwear and his manhood bobbed eagerly, proud and free. The heat between them drove his anticipation and arousal higher.

“Would you like me to?” he asked in return, fondling her through the rising material of her dress. A few more inches. That’s all it would take.

Warmth pooled low in his abdomen as his lids lowered, his glittering focus on the nymph dominating his lap and controlling him by his engorged penis.

“Mmmmm,” she replied, smirking at him. “I want to see you do it again,” she admitted, running her thumb over one of his nipples until it stiffened under her touch and he frissoned at the jolt of pleasure it elicited through his powerful body.

Inside Itachi something twisted and coiled, and he enjoyed it, spreading his legs wider to give himself a more forceful base to thrust his hips upwards Sakura’s warm, welcoming core.

“Would you like to take pictures of me, too?” he asked, curious and semi-serious.

“Yes,” she said quietly, and then stroked her hand over his tip.

The shiver than ran down Itachi’s spine shook him thoroughly. He and Sakura, while intimate, rarely discussed their fantasies. This was something new and very interesting and he wanted to continue exploring it.

“I want you to see me like that, too,” she whispered, even more quietly, her head turned a bit away from him. Her shyness got the better of her for a moment before she grasped him firmly and began stroking him up and down in a fluid rhythm that had him swallowing and tensing beneath her control.

“I want to,” he said, voice thick. His hips began a steady, undulating rhythm completely of their own accord, matching Sakura’s steady, building pace.

Goosebumps erupted down Sakura’s arms, Itachi noted, when he said that.

Playing along, he let his fingers slip beneath the hem of her dress—finally, _finally_ , it rose up to reveal the sweet curve of her cheeks—and he danced his fingers along the shadowy secrets between her thighs, closing in but never touching her dewy lips.

“I want to lay you down on a bed of roses petals,” he said, breathing heavily as she pumped him. “I want to shower you in sakura blossoms.” He lipped her throat, letting out a soft groan as she pressed her thumb into the slit at his tip and spread the precum around and around in a dizzying swirl that had him clenching his eyes shut and tensing his shoulders, squeezing her.

“I want to see you touch yourself,” he admitted in a rough voice, “and watch me, focus on me, as you do it.”

“Itachi,” she breathed shakily, trembling against him.

He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. The urge to fill Sakura was too compelling, demanding he take her and drive himself into her, pleasure her as she did him, made him pant with want, sweat breaking out across his temple and down his back. It was ridiculous how completely he desired to be undone by her, controlled by her, unleashed in her; and how much he needed to do the same to her. To show her how much he desired her, how thoroughly she captivated him, how much he needed her and wanted to give her all of himself.

“Which ones?” he demanded, needing to distract himself, yet needing to know. She never teased him like this before and he found himself growing even harder as he enjoyed her game. “What are you wearing, Sakura? Tell me,” he demanded, his fingers dancing closer to the answer.

He heard her swallow before she pressed her lips to his ears and whispered,

“None.”

Their heavy breathing carried the moment before, with delicate accuracy, Itachi shifted his right hand and slid two long fingers down the apex of her thighs, over her damp curls and into her sultry, slick heat.

He held his breath as she felt Sakura bear down on his fingers, urging them closer, deeper, and he squeezed her tighter against him as he quested further.

Spreading her slickness he felt her hips move and pressed his face into the crook of her shoulder, breathing deeply. Between them her scent wafted up to him and he drank it in, heady and musky and encouraging, and it set his erection swelling and reaching for her eagerly.

But not yet; no, not yet. Now Itachi desired to tease Sakura as she had him.

“Open wider,” he ordered against her throat.

When she spread her legs wider, he kissed her throat, rumbling a, _“Good girl,”_ in praise as two of his long fingers thrust into her; she shuddered against him before letting out a grateful sigh.

“Ride my hand,” he ordered, angling his wrist to press the heel of his palm against her distended pleasure nub, swollen with desire.

“Hah,” she breathed across his throat, cheeks flushed. “I-Itachi, more. Please,” she begged, louder.

“More what?” he asked, increasing his pace when she faltered in her rhythm, squeezing him tightly before her other hand came down to join the first, scratching down his abdomen and leaving angry red marks behind on purpose.

He grunted at her rough handling, then tensed in reaction to the flush of renewed arousal it sent coursing through him. She pumped him thoroughly before reaching down between them and grabbing his sac, stretching it almost to the point of pain. But her manhandling instead had Itachi groaning deeply against her in reaction as he struggled to control himself, plunging digit finger into Sakura in retaliation, finger-fucking her harder and grinding his hand against her clit.

“I need, I need—” she begged, riding him hard, eyes shut as shudders began to take her over. Her scarf fell to the floor in a soft heap as she trembled. “I need you in me.”

“Condom?” he grit out, releasing her hip to shove down his pants. She let go of his balls for a moment to help him, blind in her lust and fumbling in her haste.

“No,” she gasped, louder. Her face was flushed and her now dishevelled hair stuck to her face with perspiration as she threw her head back with a moan. “Oh please, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

“Are you sure—”

“Yes!” She cried, grabbing the base of his cock to enter her as he flipped their positions.

Now Sakura was angled across the back of the couch, legs wrapped around Itachi’s hips as he swallowed once—

Then plunged into her in one solid thrust before setting a hammering pace, constantly stroking Sakura’s clit with one hand while covering her mouth with his other.

“Shhhhhhhh,” he said, sweat dripping down his face while she writhed beneath him, her nails digging into the leather so hard they would no doubt leave telling crescents in their wake, giving away their tryst to anyone who studied their pattern later.

He was so entranced it took him a moment to realize he was nearly balls-deep inside Sakura, throbbing and so swollen that he could not fully remove himself from her channel.

Then it hit him. He couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to.

_It happened,_ he realised with a start, his fear and triumph combining and freeing him. Elation flooded him. _It finally happened._

A knot.

They’d been so consumed with each other that he discovered he had a knot at the base of his cock, swollen like his manhood, that locked him tight inside Sakura.

He tried to swallow but his body was hypersensitized by Sakura’s arousal, by her sweet, soaking pussy that clasped him tighter and tighter like he belonged there. Every thrust sent him deeper and deeper, and with that he let go of his self-discipline. Unleashed from his self-restraint, suddenly Itachi grit his teeth and pounded harder; his balls were sucked in, too, engorged with his seed and his need to burn his possession of Sakura into her, inside her most secret of places and out.

He cracked his eyes open a fraction and saw the love and matching lust clear in Sakura’s expression. When she chanced to open her eyes and met his, her cries rose higher in spite of his efforts to muffle them and she was undone.

But she was so gorgeous, so captivating as her back arched and her core sucked him in tighter and squeezed its velvet channel around him when she crested the wave of her climax that he, too, surrendered with a small shout of ecstasy and relief. Itachi flung off the last leash of control, driving Sakura into the furniture with such wild abandon the couch itself scraped loudly across the floor in spite of the carpet.

“Kami, Sakura, you’re so tight,” he grit out between his teeth. From under his palm all Sakura could do was moan and shiver in genuine response to him.

It was the last straw.

Then Itachi felt the pressure build at the base of his spine and explode so suddenly his knees went weak and his vision blanked pure white. He froze, shaking, emptying himself and filling Sakura’s core with his seed. Like a geyser exploding, he continued erupting inside her, his seed kept coming and coming as she milked every inch of him and sucked him dry, her body begging him for more; more of his domination, more of his lust to slake, more of his delicious, swollen cock to stretch her channel and fill her full to the brim with his cum.

With every whooshing exhale, more hot semen poured from Itachi into Sakura. He prayed it wasn’t hurting her; from her fresh orgasm and wave of gasping cries, it seemed like it was eliciting an even stronger climax than her first.

That realization cost Itachi further, as another surge of arousal swept through him more compelling than the first, swelling his cock and balls inside Sakura all over again so quickly his vision blurred and blood pressure dropped.

_Again?_   
  
Shaking too hard with the second onslaught, Itachi was forced to release the hand muffling Sakura’s cries to prop himself up with the couch. He clenched his eyes and teeth shut and thrust again, again, again, panting and gasping for air. Hearing her mewls of pleasure and encouragement clearly only made it worse for him, though, and he fell forward over her, unable to stop the renewed building of another climax between his muscled thighs.

Heavy. Incessant. Powerful. It felt like an urgent pressure to be discharged, heavy and unrelenting as it weighed down between his legs, this rock-hard masculinity that throbbed, pulsed and commanded his obeisance. It was all he could do to heed it, to feed it, to survive it as it reared again and surged forward seeking its true, rightful place deeply inside his lover.

He’d been warned. He’d been warned that it would overtake him like a riptide, that it would suck his soul out and fill her with his very essence, but still it surprised him and left him witless, breathless and lightheaded with euphoria.

Then he felt his heart flutter at Sakura’s fingers threading through his hair, dragging him down until her lips were massaging his, her hips undulating with his, his mind completely blank as he fell under her love-spell once more.

At some point her other hand released the couch and lifted her dress higher, almost to her throat, baring her lace-covered breasts to him.

He groaned, the rumble passing from his chest to hers when she took over from his hand at her clit. Greedily he thumbed at her heavy breasts, abandoning the leather of the sofa to pay homage to her pointing, darkened areola.

She arched and gasped against him, alternating between kissing him and her mounting chant of, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Louder and louder she cried, more and more desperate until tears slid down her cheeks and she struggled then tensed. Sakura’s bruised, swollen lips fell open on a keening, high-pitched wail of release that shot higher when Itachi inadvertently pinched and tugged her nipples, hard, sending near-painful shocks of electricity shooting througher her arched body.

But it was her core that clamped down on him once more, one final time and squeezed every last ounce life out of him—or that’s what it felt like.

“Fuck!”

Itachi’s vision blanked and he only briefly made out the sound of Sakura’s shout.

Then every nerve ending from the tip of his gushing cock to the soles of his feet, all the way to the ends of his hair was alight with sensation.

His arms, legs and body were so tense he wondered if he would break as he felt the knot pumping what felt like gallons of cum into Sakura as she whimpered beneath him.

“Too full,” she gasped, writhing. “Oh kami, I’m going to burst.”

“Almost there,” choked Itachi, finally releasing her sorely abused breast and reaching for her hand. He wove their fingers together as more poured from him into her, his hips unable to relent in their rhythm as it compelled him to empty himself inside her.

“Itachi,” she whined. “There’s so much.”

“You can take it,” he soothed, legs still shaking but holding him up. He reached out and smoothed her damp hair from her brow before leaning down to kiss her fondly. “You can take it, baby.”

He pressed his lips together as he straightened a bit to relieve some of the pressure on her clit, swallowing hard as another, smaller wave, swelled his cock again but this time he fought it. Sakura wasn’t ready for this much at once. Not for her first time. She would need to rest after this to regain her strength and for her stretching to recede.

Yet his heart was bursting with pride even as he rode out the last undulations of his ejaculation, the pumping less frenzied now, and instead more soothing.

She had done so well. She had ridden him so fully and taken him in, every devastating inch including his knot, in her cock-hungry quim. Not just once, but more than twice and even then a third time with the after-effects, and she had begged him. She had begged him like a slut and kept coming for more. It was a dream come true.

His heart still pounding, Itachi couldn’t wait for the next time, now that he knew what to expect, how to take Sakura’s pleasure with it, how to fit themselves together and stroke her into ecstasy. She had been so ready for him that night, so free, so wanton it set his blood aflame with anticipation of their next consummation.

_Fight it, fight it, fight it,_ he told himself sternly as his too-eager cock reacted to his musings. Even his knot stirred and threatened a resurgence now that it had been woken from its long slumber.

He’d never thought he would meet a woman who could fully embrace the knot his family was whispered to harness. To know he had not only found her, but that they were so deeply in love granted his every wish.

Nothing could ruin this moment, he thought, lowering himself over Sakura to kiss her deeply.

_Snap-snap-snap._

“... your meal was delivered some time ago,” said Madara quietly as he continued shooting photos of the lovers entangled on his set. “Please take all the time you need to… compose yourselves.”

_Snap-snap-snap._

He zeroed in on the satisfied flush that pinked Sakura’s complexion, from the tips of her ears, across her cheeks, down to her pert, stiff tits completely bare in the chilly air of the studio. Her green eyes widened at him and for a moment she could only lie there, her mouth falling open as she remembered where they were.

Faster than Madara anticipated, Itachi had tugged down Sakura’s dress to cover her modesty and she turned her head away, her neck burning. Then he turned his furious eyes on Madara, but Madara ignored him.

Rather, the artist found Sakura’s suddenly innocent reaction refreshing.

The strap of her dress hung down her shoulder askew, catching his eye.

_Snap-snap-snap._

Their performance had been better than he’d anticipated, and he had made good use of the new lighting—and recording—equipment he’d just installed in his studio.

The curiosity and compulsion had rousted Madara from his spot behind the two-way mirror hung nearby, however, and Madara couldn’t help himself. When he’d seen their rendez-vous coming to a close he had to get closer, had to become involved. Had to be part of their animalistic, feverish mating.

“Get out,” ordered Itachi coldly. There was murder in his eyes.

It didn’t phase Madara in the least as he snapped a quick shot of Itachi leaning protectively over Sakura, the nymph he ravished from the sea.

He continued, stepping closer.

“She needs to get up, Itachi, or she risks… damage. Or did your elders not teach you about the aftercare she would need following her first… heat?”

Itachi stiffened.

“Unless you want her with child immediately. But you’re hardly married. She’s never been formally introduced to the Clan, has she? Is there even an engagement?” Madara snapped several more photos as Sakura looked up at Itachi with narrowing eyes full of questions.

“Itachi?” she asked softly.

Shoulders tense, Itachi’s jaw tightened.

“What does he mean?” she asked more clearly.

“It means that it doesn’t matter what point you’re at in your cycle or what method of birth control you used. Rutting with a knotted Uchiha almost always ends in pregnancy.”

Madara watched Sakura stiffen before reaching for Itachi’s cheek and turning his head to face hers.

“Is that true?” she demanded.

Holding her gaze, he nodded.

“Yes.”

Sakura pressed her lips together, then swallowed.

“What do we do to prevent it? Plan B?” she asked calmly.

Still inside her, Itachi looked away, his chest tight and full.

“Itachi, did you not warn her, first?” chided Madara patronizingly.

Sakura heard the grinding of Itachi’s teeth and looked between him and Madara.

“Or… was this perhaps your first time?” remarked Madara knowingly.

“Stop being an asshole and explain,” snapped Sakura, eyes fierce and fists clenched.

Arousal swirled low in Madara’s belly at her protective streak.

Itachi had chosen very well.

Snap-snap-snap.

“There is one way to ensure you are protected from unfortunate consequences,” said Madara leadingly, ignoring Itachi’s warning growl.

“No,” said Itachi.

“Not your decision right now,” said Sakura with a hint of heat.

She lifted her chin and held Madara’s eye.

“What do I need to do?”

Madara smirked and Itachi’s hands balled into fists at his side.

“My dear, all you need to do is sit down and relax,” he said, coming to stand beside them.

Itachi’s nostrils flared at Madara’s proximity to his mate, but he held his tongue.

Sakura arched a brow.

“Then what else do we need to do?”

“Ah,” said Madara, cocking his head to study the raised hem of Sakura’s now-wrinkled dress as it barely covered the delicate place she and Itachi were—still—joined.

“A simple extraction and supplantation,” he said.

For a moment Sakura’s brows furrowed.

Then her eyes narrowed and she glared at Madara.

“You lying piece of—”

“It’s true,” said Itachi softly.

Sakura faltered.

Her emotions warred visibly across her expressions and Itachi lifted a hand to hers, but she shook him off. He swallowed and lowered his hand again to the couch.

Madara drank it in, knowing he would get his way.

To Madara’s surprise she nodded sooner than he expected—he’d anticipated that she would fight longer, need more convincing. It seemed she made her decisions based on facts instead of feelings when it came to personal circumstances potentially affecting her professional life.

Perhaps because of how Itachi failed to give her all the information she needed to make an informed decision and give consent last time, he thought to himself with a small chuckle.

“What is… how… For the extraction?” She asked, taking a deep breath.

“First we need to remove Itachi’s semen from you. Such a large volume is probably uncomfortable by now, correct?” said Madara.

Sakura glanced up at Itachi and nodded awkwardly.

“Good. For starters, has he softened enough to be removed, or is his knot still intact?”

Sakura’s cheeks burned as she took a deep breath.

“It’s no longer… knotted,” she admitted. “It isn’t...It’s still somewhat…”

“Stiff? Erect? Hard?”

Itachi glared at Madara’s teasing.

“Stand back Itachi, remove it,” said Madara, crossing his arms.

“It’ll… Do you have a towel?” asked Sakura, burning with humiliation.

Madara turned to Itachi and smirked.   


Itachi glared at him in return.

“Well done, nephew,” he said smoothly.

Sakura sighed.

“It will make a mess,” she said.

“Fine,” said Madara. He pulled open the second drawer on a nearby wardrobe and drew out several snow white towels and cloths. He brought them to Sakura and Itachi before jutting his chin at Sakura’s hips.

“Up,” he ordered.

Trying to hold her dress in place to conceal her connection with Itachi, Sakura lifted her hips a bit and Madara slid a towel beneath her buttocks—then tugged her dress up, ignoring her gasp of shock as she was revealed entirely to Madara, the dress bunching at her throat. Itachi’s shirt offered little coverage, barely enough to cover himself and so he was left partially exposed, several inches of thick, glistening cock peeking out from between Sakura’s puffy pussy lips.

Itachi made to grab Madara but he arched a dark, silky brow.

“You still need my help, nephew.”

“Could we please get this over with,” begged Sakura tiredly, her face in her hands.

Seething, Itachi lowered his fist.

Without further ado, Madara got back to work. He set the small pile of cloths beside Sakura on the top of the sofa before folding up the remaining towels and placing them on the carpeted floor beneath her. Then he pulled his hair back and knotted it into a ponytail with an elastic and knelt upon the folded towels.

“If you could remove it swiftly and go clean up, I would appreciate it,” said Madara to Itachi. “If she’s as full as you say, this may take a bit of time.”

About to argue, Itachi opened his mouth but Sakura interrupted him again.

“Just… please continue. I will be right here, Itachi,” she said, her voice tired but soothing. “I may even fall asleep.”

At that Madara’s eyes narrowed at her accidental insult.

There was no way he would allow that to happen.

“Look away,” ordered Itachi to Madara.

“No.”

Sakura gave a warning growl, and Itachi looked away, cheeks pink.

Without further warning, Itachi flexed his hips and withdrew—or, tried to.

To his and Sakura’s surprise, there was a small suction force they had to fight; for a moment it seemed it may be more difficult than anticipated.

“Try harder,” said Madara. “It’s a kind of seal. It’s meant to keep you inside her longer, Itachi, to ensure things like I’m about to do don’t happen.”

Sakura bit her lip as Itachi’s brow furrowed. He pulled back harder, and even Sakura tried to scoot back. They were still stuck.

Madara heaved a sigh.

“Sakura, slide one of your fingers alongside Itachi’s penis and into your pussy. Imagine you are a babe suckling a teat. That’s basically your pussy sucking too hard on his cock,” explained Madara, forcing down his mounting arousal. Itachi was too lucky a bastard to get away with a treasure like Sakura. “You need to break the seal.”

“It’s useless to ask you to look away, isn’t it?” remarked Sakura.

“Would you rather I did it?”

Sakura’s hand wrapped around Itachi’s cock in record time before slowly pressing inside herself. She bit down on her bottom lip as her cheeks pinked, feeling both men staring at her. With careful, gentle motions she wiggled her finger in the only place she could, just under her clit. It throbbed and stiffened with her renewed proximity and she swallowed her sigh of arousal, wishing for the ground to swallow her up and end this sexual madness for the night.

Blushing profusely, it took several minutes for her to wiggle her finger into herself alongside Itachi’s still-hard cock and she tried her best not to stimulate him any further when he said, “Stay away from the knot building at the bottom,” rather gruffly, if reluctantly.

A moment later there was a small pop and Itachi straightened, grabbing a cloth and cleaning himself as he grudgingly withdrew from Sakura.

Meanwhile, Sakura sighed softly in relief as the pressure released and she felt the deluge flow from her womb out onto the towel… and beyond.

“It’s soaked,” she said awkwardly.

“My nephew was certainly indulgent,” said Madara with a smirk. He waited another moment or two for the flow to run its course before he shifted closer on his knees.

“No liberties,” warned Itachi.

“Clean up and eat something, I have work to do,” said Madara, put out.

“Itachi,” snapped Sakura when she saw him about to give in to his possessive side again.

“It’s because of the knotting. He can’t help himself,” said Madara with a small sigh. “I do need to get a move on, though.”

From her spot on the couch, Sakura nodded.

“It helps if you hold eye contact with me,” said Madara.

She arched a brow but nodded.

Which was when Madara took her ankles in his hand and rested them on his shoulders, he leaned forward, and with a quick wink at her he sealed his mouth over her swollen pussy lips.

And began to suck and lick her clean.

Standing beside them, Itachi couldn’t bring himself to watch. He turned and walked to the bathroom to clean himself more thoroughly, Sakura’s gasps ringing in his ears.

“Hah, you bastard,” gasped Sakura, eyes clenched shut.

He spoke, his voice muffled and darkly amused, “Open.”

Her shoulders taut, Sakura forced her eyes open only to meet Madara’s dark, glittering eyes.

She panted at the lust that drank her in. Instinctively she buried her hands in Madara’s ponytail, kneading his scalp and forcing him closer.

“Kami,” she begged, rocking her hips into his mouth when he delved into her depths with his tongue, ensuring he got every last bit of her essence. “Oh kami,” she chanted again.

Then he began humming for no good reason than to watch her squirm and Sakura mewled and writhed as he brought her close to the edge, building higher, and higher, and higher—

—before easing off again, instead nuzzling her curls and placing open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin between her quivering thighs.

“Bastard,” she breathed, chest heaving and legs trembling.

He chuckled and stroked down the outside of her thighs in reassurance.

“A necessary evil,” he lied.

“Hurry up,” she said, her head falling back for a moment as she caught her breath.

“All in due time, darling Sakura,” he said, kissing down her left thigh, across the ticklish crease of her leg and down her pubis before burying himself in her once more.

Sakura’s fingers tightened reflexively once more and she threw her head back as he stoked her arousal higher again and again, until she thrashed in his arms.

When she felt Madara’s hands over her lower abdomen, massaging and pressing down gently, then with more force, she knew she had to be close to the final round of the ‘extraction’, as he called it.

Which was very important, as she was delirious with unslaked lust and Itachi had not returned when she began shouting Madara’s name.

When Madara used one hand to pull back the hood and reveal her throbbing clit to his view, Sakura knew what was about to happen but had no time to brace herself.

With a final squeeze of her abdomen, Madara pressed down on her womb as it shifted inside her to receive an expectation of semen; instead of absorbing, however, he used the pressure to expel any left, and sucked it into his mouth while his thumb rubbed down hard, then pinched her clitoris.

Sakura shrieked at the intensity of the orgasm that shattered her to pieces.

Then she blacked out for a short time, her nails dug deep into Madara’s scalp as he purred and licked her pussy clean.

When she came to she found herself lying naked on the plush carpet, curled into Madara’s side with his arms around her.

For a moment she just looked at his content expression as he finger-combed her hair.

“Stop that,” she said quietly, not appreciating the almost loving look in his eye. He wasn’t her lover. Itachi was.

Speaking of…

She looked around.

“He will be watching from behind the two-way mirror,” explained Madara lazily, not stopping his delicate ministration. “We thought it best he not be too involved for Stage Two. What with his jealous rages still being a bit too close to the surface with the emergence of his knotting.”

Sakura’s jaw tightened as she looked at the man who was far too pleased with himself.

“Explain Stage Two,” she said.

He smirked at her.

“Stage Two is lady’s choice.”

“Explain _further_ ,” she said.

She grabbed his wrist when he went to comb her hair again.

Madara paused, lowering their hands together in a mockery of affection and pulling them to his heart.

“To put it very simply, we need to replace the cock that was in you with another one to confuse your body. Your choice is how this happens. It can be down below.”

He trailed his hand down her side to her hip and then further south still, until it met her curls and she smacked it away. He smirked at her.

“Or blessed from above.”

The hand that had held hers over his heart reached out and traced a line from her chin to her lips, pressing them open slightly. Then, while she was deciding what to do next, he began smoothing the pad of his thumb over her lips, fascinated by their soft resistance and delicate colour.

To her surprise his expression softened somewhat and the hand on her chin shifted to cup her cheek. His gaze fell to her lips and remained there, darkening further as she breathed out an involuntary gasp.

He leaned closer, drawing her into his body and aligning them. Through his light robe she felt his arousal, hot and heavy, pressing into her belly.

She wondered for a moment if he was enjoying this.

“But we’re running out of time and you need to choose soon,” said Madara gently. “We’re down to our last quarter hour.”

All Sakura could do was glare at him.

“You couldn’t just masterbate into a cup and give me a turkey baster?” she snarked.

To her surprise, he chuckled.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

She tried to look away but the hand still on her cheek held her firm.

“I’m trying to help you, Sakura,” he said softly. “I could take you and get it over with, as you say, and you’d be free to leave. I am attempting to make this more pleasurable and considerate for you.”

Her thoughts conflicting, Sakura took a breath as she listened to and weighed Madara’s words. They could be true. But she remembered Itachi’s warning from earlier that evening and reminded herself that Madara was also getting a very good deal out of the bargain, fucking her and insulting and cuckolding Itachi at the same time.

Still, she didn’t know if she could voluntarily swallow a stranger’s semen, even if it was some kind of magical birth control. (Which she was definitely taking up with Itachi later.)

It left her one option.

With a small swallow, Sakura looked at Madara’s collarbone.

Then she undid his robe before spreading it open, revealing his naked body to her eye.

While she was a surgeon and physician, this was only the second time she’d seen a potential lover naked, and she forced herself to remain calm.

He was even thicker than Itachi had been and for a moment she nearly panicked. Itachi had barely fit inside her. How was she supposed to take this in?

Good thing we didn’t choose mouth, said her inner mental voice.

Sakura fought the hysterical urge to laugh.

“You’re going to split me in half,” she said, deadpan.

He chuckled as she waited for his direction.

“You were made to fuck the head of the Uchiha,” he assured her.

He took her hand and lay on his back, tugging her over him.

“You may control this to your comfort level,” he said, holding her gaze. “Though I will warm you up.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but he arched a brow.

“Unless you’d prefer a dry ride?”

She blushed and glared at him.

He lifted his hands to her breasts.

“You may close your eyes,” he said gently, kneading them. “Relax. Think of something—or someone—you enjoy doing.”

It was a sin how much Sakura found herself enjoying Madara’s touches, after several minutes. She wondered if, because of their knotting condition, they were required to study arousal in men and women, to train in order to prepare their lovers for what may happen to them?

She bit her lip to stifle a mewl of pleasure as he did something new and altogether delightful. Between her thighs she felt the stirrings of arousal and was both grateful and ashamed.

“Touch yourself,” he coaxed a moment later.

Mesmerized by his voice, Sakura did as he directed, widening her legs as she straddled him. Her eyes closed and she braced herself against his firm pectorals.

His erection poked between her thighs, rubbing against the warm, moist crevice, but he did not enter her or force her.

Tentatively Sakura reached down, brushing her fingertips through her curls. Occasionally she caressed the silky smooth mushroom tip of his head, but for the most part she focused on herself.

As she gently, then more firmly, rubbed against her clitoris, she quickly found herself becoming wetter. Madara’s cock slid more easily between her pussy lips, coating it in her dew. She let out a soft sigh as her maintained a steady rhythm, and it matched her own as she fondled herself.

Losing herself to the motions, she reached up and cupped a hand over his as it pleasured her breast, encouraging it and teaching him how she liked to be touched.

“Yes,” she breathed softly, panting as her blood warmed and the warmth spread through her belly, rising higher. She hung forward a bit, angling her hips so Madara’s tip began gently rubbing against her needy clit. “Ngh, yes…”

Still he maintained his pace, never rushing her. As she bit her lip again with a small mewl of appreciation when he brushed her clit just right, she heard his breathing change, becoming harsher.

The hands fondling her breasts and nipples subtly changed their strokes, becoming a bit rougher, more demanding, more responsive to her reactions.

Tighter, longer, more sudden.

When she felt Madara shift beneath her, Sakura continued on, even as his lips met her throat and suckled at her pulse before sweeping up her throat to meet her lips.

“Sakura,” he moaned, one hand dropping from her breast to her hip.

“Yes,” she murmured, kissing him back, deepening the kiss when he tasted her lips with his tongue. She relaxed in his grasp entirely, bringing a hand to his throat to angle him more exactly where she wanted him, to kiss him thoroughly.

Between the cleft in her pussy he slid easily now, almost too easily, and Sakura rocked her hips naturally with his rhythm, moaning as her hands complimented their motions, her heartbeat fluttering in her chest.

“Need to be in you,” said Madara, stroking her hair lovingly. Yet instead of rushing her, he kissed her, his eyes closed as he pressed their lips together over and over again, tasting and savouring her, brushing his nose down her cheek to nuzzle her more gently than she imagined him capable of.

Sakura’s heart skipped at his tenderness.

Instead of replying, she angled her hips and grasped his cock firmly before sheathing it, deep inside her, plunging her tongue into his mouth simultaneously before gliding it over his own. Unsurprised, she found she tasted both herself and Itachi still on his tongue, and moaned at the pleasant taste and texture.

That was when Madara proceeded to, there were no other words to describe it, make love to her.

With his arms wrapped around her, Sakura let herself go and felt her release flow smoothly through her.

Her first release.

Madara’s impressive stamina and gentle ministrations continued, her climaxes building and growing with each successive dénouement, until she was shaking and sobbing from the emotions he created in her.

“Last one,” he promised, whispering in her ear and kissing it softly. “That’s a good girl. Look at me, Sakura,” he ordered, pulling back so their eyes could meet one last time.

“Once more and then it’s all over,” he promised.

She did, and held his gaze through their last, this time shared, climax.

The near-pain in his face, the tension through his jaw until his lips fell open the second before he crashed them to hers, thrusting into her almost violently with his need as she shuddered in his arms.

“Kami, you’re too beautiful for him,” breathed Madara, his trademark smirk softer than usual on his satisfied face.

It was Sakura’s turn to chuckle.

“Not getting a second chance,” she said tiredly, before a yawn crept out and she let her head fall onto Madara’s shoulder.

“‘Tachi?” she called weakly.

There was a short pause before Itachi walked around the far side of the partition wall, his eyes focused on her, his cheeks warm.

“I’m here,” he said, taking her hand and ignoring his uncle.

Sakura blinked at him sweetly.

“Take me home?” she said.

“Of course,” he said, lifting her up from Madara’s lap, ignoring the deflated member that slipped from her core.

Ignoring his uncle’s shamelessness, Itachi reached for Madara’s discarded robe and wrapped it around Sakura.

“The cargo bay doors are unlocked,” advised Madara, watching Sakura’s eyes fold shut a final time before she fell asleep. “You parked in the garage below, correct?”

“Yes,” said Itachi, reluctantly grateful.

Madara nodded.

“Be more careful next time,” he said, standing and walking past Itachi to collect a cloth from the back of the sofa, wiping himself clean.

“Hn,” said Itachi, carrying Sakura out. As he left, he dumped a crumpled cloth into a garbage.

Madara waited until he watched Itachi’s car exit the garage, monitoring it through the security camera screen setup until it reached the road.

Then he padded to the garbage and looked down, before smirking. No wonder it had taken Itachi a moment before coming out from behind the wall.

Madara hadn’t been the only one to get off on Sakura’s last orgasm that night.

“You have much to learn, nephew,” said Madara.

Completely at ease with his nakedness in the privacy of his studio, Madara collected some of the forgotten food that _Akimichi’s_ had delivered before sitting down in front of the security monitor screens and typing in the time Sakura had arrived that night.

Immediately the footage rewound, restarting at the moment Itachi removed Sakura’s coat.

Spreading his legs wide and reaching down to the reawakening member that lay heavy between his thighs, Madara relaxed back and enjoyed the show a second time over.

Next time he would remind Itachi that there was a reason why triad relationship in the Clan were so highly respected, and why they were so prevalent.

For now he had more important things to focus on.

He opened the drawer of his desk and withdrew the bra and stockings Sakura wore that night that Itachi forgot to collect, before proceeding to wrap the stockings around his cock and starting a slow, smooth glide.

Yes, he smirked as he drank a glass of sparkling champagne. Much more important things.

**(THE END)**

  



	2. Pop it Like It's Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itachi asks Shisui for a favour.

Seated together at Shisui’s apartment, Itachi spoke quietly with pinked cheeks as he and Shisui shared tea. The explanation lasted longer than he would have liked; in some parts he stumbled over his words, but by the end he made his request clear.

 

“You want me to spend more time with Sakura?” Shisui’s voice was cautious.

 

Itachi nodded.

 

“If… If I lose control again, I don’t want to call Madara in. He was far too interested in Sakura. I don’t trust him,” admitted Itachi. His hands closed around his tea cup as he shook his head. “There was something off about him that night.”

 

“He’s too used to getting his own way. From the pictures you showed me of her, I can’t say it would have been a hardship for him to help you,” teased Shisui, trying to lighten Itachi’s mood. “She’s really cute. But he may have been yanking your chain to get a rise out of you. You know he’s like that. Any luck with the clan yet?”

 

Itachi shrugged a shoulder, to which Shisui nodded.

 

“I would like you to join us,” said Itachi. “If you and Sakura get along well, I would like to convene an official clan triad.”

 

Shisui stilled, then blinked slowly.

 

“Please think on it,” said Itachi, voice tired when Shisui didn’t immediately reply. “I only want to protect Sakura.”

 

At Itachi’s pleading tone, Shisui’s brows knit.

 

“You really think Madara would interfere?” he asked.

 

Itachi’s eyes darkened as his expression leveled.

 

“Yes.”

 

# # # # #

 

With his sunglasses on and his window rolled down, Madara navigated the streets with ease and grace—and six hundred, barely leashed horsepower beneath the hood of his sports car. The afternoon was gloriously sunny and he had a lovely afternoon awaiting him, starting with a spot of lunch—

 

He parked his car in the guest lot and gathered his things.

 

—with his favourite new toy.

 

Sakura glanced up from the enclosed veranda where she was reviewing her paperwork.

 

Her mood immediately darkened and turned wary when she caught Madara smirking at her.

 

“What do you want?” she asked, sliding her folder closed. She doubted he would use any information contained within for nefarious purposes, but protecting patient confidentiality was a priority for her and her staff.

 

“Ah, it isn’t what I want, but what you invariably need.” 

 

She glowered at him until he raised his bag.

 

“Lunch,” he explained, enjoying her pink-blushed cheeks.

 

“I’m not hungry,” she said, turning back to her work and ignoring him.

 

“Also, I came to see how you were. Recovered after your… activity?”

 

At that Sakura’s hands stilled over her pile of work folders.

 

“That’s no business of yours,” she said evenly. 

 

“Hn,” he mused, watching her avoid his eye. “And yet, when a woman as intelligent as you obviously are, Doctor Haruno, encounters new and… unusual circumstances… I would assume you would have questions.”

 

Sakura let out a small sigh and shook her head, as if trying to dislodge his tempting offer from her mind.

 

“I need to get back to work,” she said.

 

“Take the meal. My card is inside,” he said, standing as she did. “Please. If you have questions you aren’t comfortable asking Itachi, I would be happy to answer. Your relationship with me obviously won’t suffer if you need to be… blunt,” he added meaningfully.

 

Sakura stacked the pile of folders on the table one last time before slowly tapping them to even them out. She stared at them before glancing up at Madara.

 

“What’s in it for you?” she asked shrewdly.

 

Ah, he could see why Itachi was so attached to this one. She wasn’t stupid, was she?

 

No, not at all.

 

But she was… innocent.

 

“One of the strongest, most successful members of my clan looks to be forging a true bond with a non-clan member. You will both need allies,” said Madara.

 

“Future favours,” surmised Sakura. He was looking to curry future favour with them. She wasn’t sure for what, but given his behaviour during their last time together, she could guess.

 

Madara shrugged. With that, he nudged the bag closer to her.

 

“Eat. Look after yourself. Itachi will be worried if you don’t,” he said honestly.

 

Sakura let out a low breath from her nose.

 

“Thank you for lunch. And your offer. I…” She broke off, unsure of herself. “I appreciate that you made it. I understand the clan can be quite insular.”

 

Madara nodded once.

 

“I want to be quite clear with you, though. So there are no misunderstandings,” said Sakura. Her voice was confident and calm, yet her eyes were conflicted. “What happened… we appreciate your help. We won’t bother you again for your assistance. Itachi has made arrangements for our future.”

 

“Of course. He is a responsible one,” said Madara.

 

They bid each other goodbye and Sakura walked down the veranda stairs and back into the hospital again.

 

Meanwhile Madara’s fist clenched as he watched her leave.

 

So, Itachi thought he could keep him away from Sakura, did he?

 

# # # # #

 

When Sakura returned home that night, she slid off her shoes and deposited them by the door, as she always did. She hung up her coat, as she always did. She dropped her briefcase on the end of her couch, as she always did.

 

And then she slid off her panty hose and bunched them up to throw into her delicates laundry bag—until she remembered that she was still short her favourite pair of stockings.

 

Grunting to herself, she realised she could probably have asked Madara about them earlier. Then she sighed. No, she wasn’t going there. She wasn’t going near him. She would just have to abandon that one pair in sacrifice. 

 

She dropped her hosiery into her laundry bag and her stomach rumbled. She remembered the bag of take out that Madara had left her, heaped on top of her briefcase on the couch. She’d skipped lunch in order to avoid him, and now it was after seven and she was starving.

 

Making her barefoot way back to the couch where the takeout bag slumped against her briefcase, Sakura deliberated.

 

It was just takeout, right?

 

_ Itachi said don’t trust him _ , reminded her inner self.

 

But it wasn’t like a grown man was going to poison her.

 

_ Itachi said don’t trust him. _

 

And she was really tired and didn’t want to cook supper.

 

_ Don’t. Trust. Him. _

 

Biting the inside of her cheek, Sakura took a breath and held it.

 

It’s food. It’s food she didn’t need to prepare or pay for. And it was food that had smelled heavenly.

 

She glanced at the door. Then locked it, triple checked the rest of her apartment and came back to the bag of takeout.

 

Now that she had ensured that even if he had poisoned it, he wouldn’t be able to kidnap her (or whatever Itachi was worried about—they really needed to talk things over in full so she understood his concerns more specifically), Sakura picked up the takeout and popped it into the microwave.

 

Soon the tantalising scent of bibimbap and the sides of preserved vegetables and kimchi wafted through her apartment. Mouth watering, Sakura settled in front of her television and popped up the menu for Netflix. She would relax that night, she decided, and ask Itachi later.

 

With her favourite comedy queued up, she picked up her meal with her chopsticks and bit in. 

 

Damn. Whatever else Madara was, the man had very good taste; the meal was delicious and Sakura devoured it.

 

It wasn’t even an hour later that Sakura began fidgeting on the couch. The food was spicier than she’d expected. It was far too warm. She took off her sweater. She was thirsty. She poured herself water. She was restless, so she shoved the couch back and decided to do yoga while she watched her show. Then sit ups. Then push ups. Then burpees.

 

Her clothes became tight and uncomfortable. She was alone, so she decided she didn’t need them anyway. With her blinds closed she stripped down to her underwear and tossed everything into the laundry baskets.

 

She turned on a fan when the prickle of heat and sweat dotted her bare skin.

 

It was when she was stretching her neck after letting her hair down that she found herself unconsciously rubbing up and down her legs that she became aware of her arousal.

 

Her eyes widened and she grabbed the takeout container from the table, smelling it more carefully before hurling it into the garbage.

 

“That prick!”

 

Discarded on the table beside the bag of takeout lay Madara’s business card.

 

# # # # #

 

“No, I don’t know what it was,” admitted Itachi angrily over the phone. He ran his hand through his hair, gripping it tightly and pulling it to relieve the dangerous edge of his tension. “Do you feel ill? Dizzy?”

 

“Horny,” said Sakura bluntly. “It’s uncomfortable and getting worse. I can go to the hospital to run a tox screen to find out exactly what it was, but that’s going to raise some questions about who laced my food, which will then lead to police involvement. For your family.” clarified Sakura.

 

“I know,” bit out Itachi, trying to wrap his head around his uncle’s machinations. “I will talk to him and see if he’ll tell me what it was. How much can you narrow down on your own? Without the hospital lab,” he asked, shifting the phone slightly. “But Sakura, if you feel at all dizzy or ill or faint, I want you to promise me you’ll call an ambulance. We’ll handle what happens after.”

 

“I don’t know. I’m checking my references at the moment but I’m not sure what part of the food it was in so it’s making it hard to narrow down,” growled Sakura. “Damnit, that’s why he chose kimchi; it hid the taste and the smell.”

 

“Do you have any left?”

 

“No,” sighed Sakura. “I was… really hungry,” she confessed. “It was supposed to be for lunch…” Her words trailed off as she realized how much worse things could have been had she eaten the food while at work instead of at home. “I’m going to throttle him.”

 

“Don’t,” said Itachi. “Not yet. I’m going to see if I can track him down and drag out an answer. In the meantime, you stay safe at home. If you need anything, text me. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”   
  
“You’re coming over?” Sakura’s voice was unbearably eager and she both wilted at her desperation and reveled at his pending arrival.

 

Itachi hesitated. “If that’s okay?”

 

“Please. I need—” Sakura bit the inside of her cheek again. “I could use some company,” she amended. “You,” she added. 

 

She heard the soft sigh as he relented. “I will do my best to get you an answer quickly. Once I know what it was, will we be able to relieve your symptoms?”

 

“Yes. And I can relieve them through you in the meantime, too,” said Sakura, leaning forward as she rubbed at her knees. His voice did things to her. It always had, but now it was… more.

 

“Sakura,” warned Itachi, voice low. To Sakura it sounded as sinful as chocolate tasted.

 

“Please hurry,” she mumbled, embarrassed and needy.

 

“I’ll be there within the hour.”

 

“I’ll be here,” she promised. 

 

“If I’m delayed, Shisui will be in touch with you so you aren’t alone,” added Itachi.

 

“Shisui?” asked Sakura.

 

“Yes. He is the one person I trust above all others. Especially within the clan. If I am late, expect Shisui to meet you at your apartment until I arrive. He may be able to help.”

 

“Is he the one—”

 

“Sakura, I need to find Madara. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” promised Itachi, interrupting her. Time wasn’t on their side.

 

Chest tight, Sakura nodded. “See you in an hour. Love you.”

 

“I love you, Sakura.”

 

The line beeped off and Sakura’s hand dropped to her naked lap.

 

An hour. She had to wait another hour.

 

She rubbed at her forehead in frustration before looking around. 

 

Well, if she had an hour to kill she could try and work it out of her system again on her own.

 

# # # # # 

 

It didn’t work.  _ Nothing  _ worked.

 

Frustrated beyond belief, Sakura slapped the unsatisfying vibrator down onto the towel beside her on her bare bed. Well, not entirely stripped. The sheets were still on it though now untucked at one corner from her writhing, but she’d shoved her blankets off when she’d spread-eagled herself across the mattress and tried to flush the aphrodisiac from her system through manual, independent means. As the scent of vaguely smoldering electrical wiring could now attest, it hadn’t worked. Also, she was now down one of her favourite vibrators.

 

Madara was going to pay for this.

 

No matter what she didn’t she couldn’t climax. What kind of aphrodisiac threw a person’s system into such heightened arousal and yet prevented climax? Nothing worked, not fantasizing, not relaxing, not reading her small but creative stash of erotica—something she’d barely consulted in the last six months since she and Itachi had moved on to a more physically intimate relationship. 

 

Yet the tension was still there. It bordered on painful, the impotence to assuage this overwhelming need for completion. It was ridiculous and made her want to both laugh and cry and above all just release the pent up irritation that thrummed under her skin and through her body. 

 

Sweat dampened her skin and left her meager underwear plastered to her body, and she debated showering—again—to try and cool herself down.

 

Then there was a knock at her apartment door and she rocketed to her feet instinctively, racing to open it with desperate hands. 

 

“Itachi, finally! I thought it was going to burn out another…”

 

“Uh, hi. I’m Itachi’s cousin, Shisui!” said the man with the close-cut, dark, unruly hair. He was broader than Itachi, perhaps half an inch shorter. And trying very hard to keep his eyes on her face. “Um, would you like to… uh… tea?” he stumbled.

 

He offered his hand in a vague way, his brows drawn together like confused little caterpillars. His focus remained on her eyes. Then moved up to her forehead. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

 

Sakura swallowed, staring at him.

 

Dark hair.

 

Dark eyes.

 

That face, those familiar features—

 

All she saw was  **_Uchiha_ ** and suddenly her heart skipped as her chaotic senses all clicked into place and she knew exactly what she needed.

 

“Is everything okay in here? I smell something  _ burnieeeeeeee— _ ” he yelped as Sakura grabbed him by his belt buckle and hauled him inside her apartment.

 

“Shut up and give me your cock,” she demanded.

 

# # # # #

 

Shisui stood on one side of Sakura’s kitchen with his hands on top of it while he kept her in sight on the opposite side.

 

“Sakura, you need to listen to me,” he said calmly as she circled him.

 

“You don’t feel this, Shisui. I need it to stop.” Sakura’s entire focus was on the Uchiha across from her. He had what she needed. She could practically smell it on him.

 

“Sakura, Itachi needs to be here. We need his permission. For starters, you need my permission,” he tried to reason with her. “Right? Consent?”

 

“No one asked me for mine,” she growled.

 

“And I’m so very sorry, Sakura,” said Shisui, eyes wide and honest. “Itachi should have explained. I can explain a bit now, if you—”

 

“Shut up and get on the floor,” snapped Sakura, rubbing at her throat and down her body. “Do you know what this feels like?”

 

“I can help! I can help without sex, I promise.”

 

“That’s not the help I need.”

 

Then she shoved the table out of the way and leapt upon Shisui, sinking her nails through his shirt and into his back and burying her face in the crook of his neck. She hooked her legs behind his waist. “This is what I need,” she whispered into his ear, kissing his throat. “This will make both of us feel better. Itachi will understand, Shisui,” she purred, pressing closer.

 

The fine hair on the back of Shisui’s arms rose in warning. As Sakura moved sinuously against him he instinctively clutched her closer to keep her from falling.

 

“Sakura, this isn’t you,” he said firmly as she softened in his arms, breathing him in. “I’m going to sit down and we’re going to talk this through.”

 

“I want more than talk, Shisui,” she said coyly. One strong, expert hand moved up to massage the back of Shisui’s neck and he felt a moan of appreciation rise up in his throat. “You only need to relax. I’ll do everything.”

 

With a reluctant sigh, Shisui strode back to the table and pulled out two chairs. Then he took a look around the apartment. With Sakura still snaked around him like a succubus, he unhooked and dragged the mirror from the back of her bedroom door to lean against the first chair he’d pulled out.

 

“Come on, down you go,” he said as she wrestled him to stay close to his warm, firm body.

 

“No, no, you can’t put me down, don’t let go—”

 

“Sakura, I will tie you down if I need to,” said Shisui firmly, skirting away from her grabbing hands.

 

“Why are you doing this to me!” Sakura yelled, eyes wild.

 

Setting his chin, Shisui grabbed Sakura’s shoulders and forced her to face the mirror.

 

“You aren’t going to ruin your relationship because of a stupid drug, Sakura,” said Shisui. “What you can do is control it just a little while longer.”

 

“I don’t want to control it, I want it gone. You can—” She had already turned around and started climbing out of the seat again.

 

“Teach you to control it,” interrupted Shisui. “Now, turn around and look at the mirror, Sakura. I want you to imagine that the man behind you isn’t me. It’s Itachi. Can you do that for me? Can you pretend I’m Itachi?”

 

“... you don’t smell like him,” she pouted. 

 

“Stay there,” ordered Shisui. “I mean it. Where do you keep his clothes? Does he have an overnight bag here?”

 

“He has his own closet in the guest room. His shaving bag is in the second drawer on the left, en-suite bathroom,” said Sakura. “Are you going to—”

 

“Stay put or I won’t,” he threatened. 

 

Shisui was back in record time, offering Sakura a soft sleeping t-shirt of Itachi’s that he’d sprayed some of Itachi’s cologne over. Very lightly, but just enough. The moment she caught it, Sakura buried her face in it, breathing deeply to saturate her senses. It took a few moments but soon enough her back and shoulders relaxed, the stress lines in her face smoothed, and her eyes lost the desperate, red-rimmed edge they’d been holding.

 

“That’s it,” said Shisui, pleased to see some of her control returning.

 

Sakura inhaled deeply again, rubbing the shirt against her feverish skin.

 

“It helps,” she admitted. 

 

“I know,” said Shisui, smiling at her softly. “You need to learn how to control this. The need is still there, I know, but this helps you focus. Right?”

 

Sakura nodded, clutching the shirt close.

 

“Think we can talk for a few minutes?” asked Shisui, moving behind Sakura as she sat in the kitchen chair. Her eyes roved over her pent-up, crazily disarrayed appearance in the mirror. She couldn’t believe her eyes. 

 

“Hey, eyes up here,” said Shisui, standing behind Sakura and placing his large, warm hands upon her shoulders. Sakura looked up and caught his dark eyes in the mirror. “This isn’t really you. Let’s talk. You cuddle with t-shirt-Itachi.”

 

Sakura quirked a grin at him. “You’re trying to distract me.”

 

“Mmm-hmmmm,” he agreed, grinning at her as he began massaging her shoulders. “It’ll keep the edge off until Itachi arrives.”

 

“Soon?”

 

“Soon,” he promised, and began working on a knot between her shoulder blades. “Itachi told me you’re a physician? A surgeon?”

 

“Yes, at Konoha General.”

 

“Smart cookie. Not surprised. Itachi has pretty high standards. How’d you end up with my cousin? He’s been pretty tight-lipped. I knew he was seeing someone, but he kept you pretty close to the vest.”

 

“Is he ashamed of me?” asked Sakura, the insecurity slipping out before she could catch herself. She cursed the drug and its deterioration of her inhibitions.

 

To her surprise, Shisui laughed. The deep, free sound relaxed and tantalized her. 

 

“No way. He thinks the world of you. His sudden interest in medical charities, though, makes sense. Well, I say ‘sudden’. It’s really been going on for the last year and a half. Now I know why,” said Shisui mock-smugly. “Uncle Fugaku is going to be so relieved. He was worried Itachi was considering going back to school for medicine. Looks like he just… had something he was working on.” Shisui’s hands moved up into Sakura’s hair and she groaned and let her head fall back as he kneaded her scalp. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did you two meet?”

 

“His brother is one of my best friends. We knew each other a bit. Sasuke bailed on me and Itachi came in his place so I wouldn’t be on my own at an important hospital-related ceremony.”

 

Shisui’s fingers slowed to a smooth pulse on the crown of her silky hair. “Was this just over a year ago? At the pediatric cardiac ward grand opening?”

 

“Hmm? Yes, it was. Keep going, that felt nice,” said Sakura, eyes closed. She hummed appreciatively as Shisui moved on to her temples.

 

“Hn,” said Shisui, grinning to himself. Ah. So that’s why Sasuke suddenly fell ‘ill’ that night a year ago for no reason, and why Itachi had had his best-fitted tux freshly dry cleaned… several days before. And was showered and ready to go hours before Sasuke fell ‘ill’. And why Sasuke was driving Itachi’s Maserati the entire week after…

 

Shisui shook his head. Itachi was so predictable sometimes. But Shisui had to hand it to him. He got what he wanted.

 

Unconsciously Shisui’s fingers had begun finger-combing Sakura’s layered, wavy hair. The soft locks were the most beautiful colours he’d ever seen, from strawberry to peach to rose, blended together and almost white in some highlights. And his cousin appreciated beauty inside and out in a person. It was all too easy for Shisui to imagine Itachi and Sakura lying in bed together, entwined, Itachi running his hand through Sakura’s hair for hours to feel its silkiness slipping through his fingers, over and over. Itachi was very much a tactile person.

 

Mentally shaking himself, Shisui glanced around for a clock.

 

“Shouldn’t be long now,” he said off-hand. 

 

“Keep talking. Keep touching,” sighed Sakura. “It helps.”

 

Brows furrowing, Shisui brought his hands up to her shoulders again. “This good?”

 

“Mmmm,” she moaned softly, holding Itachi’s t-shirt to her cheek and turning her face into it. “Tell me about yourself, Shisui,” she said. “Itachi wants you to be our partner.”

 

“Ah, yeah. We’re cousins and best friends,” he said with a shrug. “Itachi’s a genius, as you know. It was hard for him to have friends on his wavelength growing up. Or in his age group. With me being a bit older, it helped him adjust.”

 

“You’re like brothers, then.”

 

Shisui nodded, then startled when he felt Sakura’s hand gliding over his at her shoulder. 

 

“Uh—”

 

“Shhh, I just need touch. I’m fine,” she said, stroking his hand and wrist. “Keep talking.”

 

The hair on Shisui’s arms rose again in warning, but he ignored it. He let her guide his hand this time. Down over her shoulder, down her arm, kneading and caressing. Relaxing her, he told himself. This was what she needed. What she wanted. She pulled him forward gently so he leaned over her shoulder. Her skin was unbelievably soft. Itachi was such a lucky man.

 

“Brothers, yes. We uh, we, we, uh, that’s—”

 

“Hmmm?” purred Sakura as she curled her body into his, her face leaning in close to his, her lips to his ear as she exhaled warm, sweet breath against him. 

 

His hand flexing now against Sakura’s toned abdomen, Shisui tried to focus as Sakura pressed her satin-covered breasts to the sensitive insides of his arm. A shiver ran down his spine as she breathed against him again, her chest rising and falling.

 

“Keep going,” murmured Sakura against his earlobe before taking it between her teeth and delicately nibbling it.

 

The hand in her hair fell traitorously down Sakura’s other shoulder, squeezing it before he continued on.

 

She let out a soft sigh as he cupped her other breast, and he swallowed a moan of his own in response. She was so sensitive. 

 

“They’re so heavy,” she murmured, kissing him gently down his jawline.

 

“I can tell,” he said softly. With an equally gentle move he stroked beneath her breast and began a rhythmic flickering rub of her nipple, feeling it tighten and peak beneath his fingers.

 

Her kitten mewls stroked his own ego and he turned his head to hers, nuzzling at her throat.

 

It was only when he noted the way his opposite wrist was moving of its own accord and dipped into a slick well that Shisui realized the hand not at Sakura’s breast had slipped beneath her damp panties to explore and fondle her clit. Her hips moved in sync with his stroking, smooth and fluid in their undulations. Beneath his forearm her abdomen was a work of art as her muscles flexed and contracted.

 

She was so beautiful, so wanton and reactive to his every stimulus, his every touch. 

 

Swallowing, Shisui felt the arousal building low in his core. He’d tried to push it away. Tried to push Sakura away. Tried to be a better man. But the sounds she made. The way she moved. The heady scent of her sex preparing itself for him.

 

For him.

 

His stomach clenched. 

 

What would it feel like, he wondered?

 

His jaw tightened as he dipped his finger inside her for the first time, testing her. 

 

Her thighs trembled around his hand for a second before they slowly spread wider as she rocked her hips outward in invitation.

 

Another shiver spread through Shisui, then, but this was not in fear. This time, it was anticipation.

 

Spreading her slickness, he stroked her again, and again, working her up instead of attempting to cool her arousal. Encouraging her lust to build for him.

 

He pressed his cheek to hers a second, breathing hard as she broke her lips away from his throat for a moment to gasp in want.

 

His mouth went dry at the sound.

 

Then Shisui threw caution to the wind and without further thought twisted his head to seal his lips over hers. His eyes fell closed as their lips connected and suddenly everything felt right. His chest lifted with life and yearning and he sank into Sakura, kissing her deeply. Her taste was clean and fresh and enticing on his tongue as he explored her, and she took the opportunity to match his curiosity with her own, teasing him with her tongue and nips of her teeth.

 

Sakura’s body reacted immediately, too, softening and molding herself to him, reaching up to cup the hand that still fondled her breast while her other snuck behind Shisui’s head to pull him closer, angling him so she could kiss him more thoroughly.

 

“Shisui,” she moaned between kisses. Her fingers speared through his short hair, tugging on it only to make him groan harder.

 

“Sakura,” gasped Shisui. His mind was a blur. All he could feel was Sakura, hear Sakura, smell Sakura.

 

A low growl sounded rumbled in his throat and he suddenly moved.

 

No longer was he behind Sakura but now rather in the seat she had sat in with her facing outwards in his lap, still towards the mirror. The mirror he had so carefully carried from her room earlier reflected both their flushed faces.

 

Kissing up and down Sakura’s throat in between panting breaths, Shisui spread his legs wide while Sakura’s legs dangled over his. He reached between them and nudged aside the scrap of panty that remained, ineffectively covering her sex.

 

“Watch,” he commanded, tracing her engorged lips. Then he slowly massaged them open as Sakura’s heavy-lidded eyes widened, her chest heaving as he revealed her most secret place to them both. “Do you see how ready you are?” he said still massaging her clit.

 

With his other hand he peeled down the cups of her satin bra to present her swollen breasts. 

 

“You are a goddess,” he praised, lovingly nuzzling her throat and arching her back to present her breasts. “You deserve to be worshipped.”

 

“Shisui, please,” she begged. Her hips struggled to gyrate against his hand but he controlled her pleasure. “Please, I need to feel you.” She lifted a hand to her pale breast, tipped with its distended rosebud nipple, slowly flicking her finger beneath it and shuddering with each tingle it sent through her body. 

 

Shisui was transfixed.

 

“Please, Shisui. I need you inside me,” she begged shamelessly. 

 

And then Shisui’s hips bucked up into Sakura’s clever little hand as she slipped it beneath the front of of his shirt like a thief, down between the front of his jeans to cup him through his boxer briefs. 

 

“Sakura,” he groaned, head falling forward into the crook of her neck to kiss her. Already his hips were moving to the rhythm she set with her wrist. “The mirror, watch.”

 

“Hah!” she gasped as he bit her pulse lightly while tugging her nipple.

 

She retracted her hand in retaliation, only to undo his belt, zipper and button and tug him free through the cock pocket of his briefs faster than he thought possible.

 

“Yes,” she hissed, fisting him triumphantly.

 

The whine in Shisui’s throat was pitiful as his eyes fluttered shut when she stroked and pumped him perfectly on the first try.

 

“Sakura,” he grit out, moving one hand from her breast to her hip even as he continued finger-fucking her. He inserted another finger, scissoring her open wider in preparation. His hand was slick from her wantonness, and he knew his jeans must be, too,

 

His jeans. He would scrap her raw if he didn’t—

 

With a curse he muffled into her throat, Shisui lifted them both up from the chair and shoved down his jeans until they hung at his knees. Then he yanked down Sakura’s panties before placing his knee between her legs and spreading her legs wider.

 

“Please, please, please,” she begged, one arm behind his neck to hold him closer while still pressing her chest outwards. He was so like his cousin in the way he favoured her breasts.

 

Between their feet, Itachi’s t-shirt fell to the floor.

 

With his forehead against the back of her neck, panting and shaking, Shisui slipped his cock between Sakura’s legs two, then three times to collect her dew. Then he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her again—

 

“Shi—” she began, before she shuddered in his arms. 

 

His blunt tip pushed, pushed, pushed then slid home in her most perfect, secret place. “Shhhhh,” he breathed hoarsely as she trembled, and he trembled, as they came together.

 

“Shi-shi-shi—,” she hiccuped as he filled her. Her fingers dug into his hair, needing something to grip as she squeezed him inside her.

 

“I know,” he whispered, kissing her over and and over again. “I know. Just a little bit more.”

 

She gave a strangled moan as she felt him exploring her so deep inside. Then she focused and squeezed him again, holding him where he was.

 

“Easy,” he said, voice shaking as he took a moment for them to adjust.

 

“Oh kami,” whispered Sakura. She wrapped her arms around Shisui’s, leaning back into his warm, solid strength. Her head fell back onto his shoulder. 

 

“We’ll go slow,” he promised, and she nodded and swallowed.

 

And they began their ancient rite.

 

# # # # #

 

Several hours later Shisui swallowed, running a hand through his hair. Behind him Sakura slumbered in her freshly made bed, exhausted. He’d tucked her in after their last round and wash up in the tub, then pulled on his shorts to find his phone.

 

Shit. He rubbed at his face. He hadn’t meant to. Gods, it was an accident.

 

His face in his hands again, guilt and shame flooded him.

 

He checked his phone to distract himself, and paled.

 

How had so much time passed already?   
  
Where was Itachi?

 

Why wasn’t he answering?

 

They had to….

 

Then, in the kitchen as he searched for a glass, Shisui spotted the business card, half-buried in the kitchen garbage. He leaned down and pulled it free.

 

His heart stopped.

 

Itachi wasn’t answering. He needed someone, another Uchiha, to be there.

 

—Kami, if only he’d known that he had the ability to knot, too, he would never have—

 

Bile rose in his throat.

 

# # # # #

 

Less than ten minutes later Shisui opened the door of Sakura’s apartment for the last person he’d ever wanted to invite inside her home.

 

Madara smirked knowingly at Shisui.

 

—Then slowly fell into a glare at the scratches down Shisui’s back and the reddening marks along his neck.

 

_ They should have been his. _

 

“Leave,” ordered Madara coldly.

 

“No,” said Shisui.

 

“Suit yourself,” said Madara, turning away.

 

“Wait!”    
  
The desperate plea in Shisui’s voice halted Madara’s exit. 

 

“Please,” begged Shisui. “Stay.”

 

With his back to Shisui, Madara’s smirk returned.

 

# # # # #

 

Madara stood in Sakura’s bedroom doorway watching her chest rise and fall beneath the blankets.

 

She looked so peaceful.

 

Behind him he heard the click of the apartment’s door as Shisui left.

 

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the sex, perfume and cologne that still hung in the air.

 

Especially Sakura’s sex.

 

With calm steps he approached her bed and turned off her lamp.

 

In the darkness his eyes glowed red as he brought his hands to his tie.

 

“I’m home,” he whispered lovingly.

 

Then he began wrapping her hands together to the headboard with the tie…

  
  
  


**TBC?**


	3. Big Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't go as planned. ItaSaku, MadaSaku, ShisuiSaku. M-18.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to @purple-possibilities and @aijoinu for their beta help!  
> All errors remain my own.

Itachi’s temper spiked dangerously. From the privacy found inside his Maserati, his blood pressure rose higher, his lips pressed together tighter than a machinist’s vise. In spite of his building heat, the condensation and cool night air outside were held at bay by the state of the art air exchange system that was the height of luxury. But no luxury could prevent the frustrating words from ricocheting inside the vehicle from his phone’s speaker.

“—Mr Uchiha is not available at this time. Would you like to leave a message?”

When he heard the cultured, if unwanted, voice of Madara’s personal assistant again through the receiver, Itachi’s fingers curled so tightly around his phone he felt it bend.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

“He is not available. If this is about one of his installations, I am happy to—”

Itachi pressed the ‘end call’ button and shoved the phone back into its holder on the dash.

Think, he told himself, squeezing his hands on the wheel of his Maserati. Madara wasn’t at his office. He wasn’t at home. He wasn’t on clan grounds. Wherever he had disappeared to, it wasn’t within the reach of the clan. 

Itachi debated calling a cousin or two on the police force to see if Madara’s vehicle could be traced, but decided against it. There was no proof that Madara had done anything, and the less law enforcement involvement, the better for all of them… except Sakura, of course.

_ And she needs you most,  _ a part of him whispered.

Inside his idling car in the empty lot, Itachi’s helplessness warred with his protective instincts. He could go to Sakura, they could try to work through whatever had taken hold of her. Hopefully it would be enough. Hopefully  _ he  _ would be enough.

But Shisui was there with her for the time being. _ And Shisui would never betray you _ , he reminded himself. Shisui, his soul-friend for as long as he’d known him. The big brother he’d always needed. The only one he could truly trust.

She’s okay. Shisui’s there, he reminded himself, and felt a twinge of tension releasing its grip on his heart. She’ll always be safe with him.

Itachi’s phone, busy for the last several hours as Itachi drove through Konoha searching and calling for Madara, pinged and blinked with message notifications.

“You have eight missed messages,” he read as the notification appeared on the screen.

He tapped it quickly, scanning the messages from Shisui first.

“Hey, I’m here!” the first began, all the way through the various, “Where are you?!”-s, and then, to the final text, where his hands froze.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Itachi.”

The Maserati stalled as Itachi’s feet fell from the pedals with a thud.

  
***

 

In the dark of his comfortable, normally tidy living room, the whiskey bottle open and third glass half-full on the coffee table in front of him, Shisui pressed his palms to his eyes to force out the damning scenes that kept playing over and over in his mind.   
  
And yet, in spite of the guilt, he couldn’t help wanting more.

“I didn’t know,” he mumbled to himself, drunk. “I didn’t know, I swear. Itachi, I’m so sorry.”

She had taken him—or was it the other way around?—in her bed. There had been no fumbling. There was no awkwardness, once they made it there. There were no cliché, trite excuses or lies or reassurances. They had lain together as man and woman, and worshipped each other.    
  
While not an overly experienced man, Shisui understood certain things on a fundamental level, and the experience he’d shared with Sakura bordered on religious.

Every touch, every slow, tantalizing push or pull, every caress had been natural, ephemeral, perfect. It was like they had been made for each other with the way they had instinctively brought each other higher and broken over the crest of each wave of arousal.

Was this what it was like for Itachi?   
  
Was this the feeling, the emotion, the power Sakura and Itachi brought out in each other, each time they made love? For that’s what it was. He had truly made love to Sakura. As wild as she’d been, the moment they had come together their natures had changed. She had ascended from the mortal realm to a greater calling, summoning some hitherto unknown part of himself to rise with her and engage in the spiritual, ancient rite.

He had never felt so treasured, so loved, as he had when she had gazed into his eyes when he touched her. He had never felt so understood. He had never considered how fortunate a man he was until she smiled at him in that way, her arms around him, lovingly whispering, “My Shisui,” into his ear. His heart had never felt as full as it had when he had curled around her from behind to hold her close, so naturally, as if they were made to be. 

How he had cherished her as he’d slipped inside her and felt her relax against him, move with him as he pressed his chest and his kisses to her neck and shoulders, sweeping her hair to the side to reach that perfectly delightful spot just behind her ear that made her gasp and giggle. How she had wrapped her arms around him as they moved together as a single being, their breath mixing as they lazed and soared and reached and peaked and crested together in sync. Then trembled together, in comfort, passion, and relief as they exhaled.

It had been beautiful. Mystical. Reverent.

And yet Sakura was his best friend’s fiancée, and he had destroyed the trust Itachi placed in him by answering that irresistible call that had drawn them together.

In spite of the whiskey that did its best to obliterate the sensual memory, Shisui could still smell the scent of Sakura’s hair, still taste her on his tongue, still feel the sweetness of her skin under his hands and chest and…

Itachi’s worried face flashed in Shisui’s mind’s eye.  _ “I only want to protect Sakura.” _

Heat burned the corners of Shisui’s eyes as self-loathing lodged itself firmly in his chest like a knife from behind.

It twisted every time he felt his arousal mounting inside him as he realized he wanted more from Sakura.

***

 

“Ita… Ita… ha… haa…”

Sakura panted in her sleep, writhing beneath the lapping onslaught that warmed and curled her insides in a gentle, stroking pull.

A yearning, one she had felt only three times in her life, sent tendrils of awareness through her. This strange instinct Itachi had awoken in her—the instinct she’d buried and ignored for years prior to that first night at the studio—honed her senses in on her surroundings, drawing her from her previously sated repose. 

She needed to talk about this instinct with Itachi soon. That urge that she’d subdued since her teenage years, that had frustrated and troubled and even concerned her as it spiked erratically whenever she was in the presence of certain individuals, demanded examination and control. She’d never fully understood it or why it happened, outside of a crazy theory, but it was ridiculous, and she refused to accept what it implied. 

Sakura had studied and meditated and exercised for hours to exhaust it out of herself, experimented with tinctures and by self-medicating to undo or at least find some relief when it had troubled her. When she met Itachi and everything had calmed within her, she’d thought she’d finally had it down. She had finally mastered, or cured, or outgrown it, like an anxiety she’d finally found the trigger to and could now control. Itachi had calmed the roiling currents inside her to a sheltered beach cove. He was the one who helped her see clearly when she was stressed, who soothed her when she was frustrated, who laughed with her and grounded her when she worried. 

Then, that night only days ago, everything Sakura had tried to hide about herself—about that strange and restless urge—had rebounded back into her life, throwing her arse over teakettle and launching her into the most incredible places before blowing her back out to sea in another man’s arms. And not just any man, but one of Itachi’s relatives, the one he’d warned her about.

How confusing it had been, and how conflicted she remained.

Sakura had debated contacting her mentor, Dr Senju Tsunade, to ask for an examination. She loathed making such a personal and private request of Tsunade’s time, but if anyone could understand the nature of these urges and their physiological triggers and responses, it would be her. 

Yet Sakura hesitated to reveal so much of her private life to her supervisor. Especially when Tsunade had made cautionary remarks regarding the Uchiha before. 

Another ripple of warmth and languid excitement travelled through Sakura’s body, interrupting her thoughts and echoed from her core outward to her fingertips and even her hair. She sighed, arching into it and enjoying every curl of it as the sensations washed through her like a wave on a beach. The pleasurable tingles distracted her from her trifling anxieties and pushed a content gasp through her lips, leaving them open for more.

Unconsciously, Sakura’s knees relaxed open further as her hands fumbled to her thighs in her sleep, clutching at the silky slip Shisui had wrapped her in. He obviously knew Itachi’s tastes well, as the creamy satin cupped her curves sinfully while the soft lace trimmed her in innocence. Itachi had a very tactile side, and the combination of her sweet skin, the smooth satin and the delicate lace had appealed to him very much. He had even purchased her a matching robe, not that she found she ever had it on long when he was around.

A brush of lips across hers had Sakura arching upwards in want, and strong, confident hands took hers, relieving them of her slip and instead stretching them above her head.

Sakura smiled, gently rousing from her sleep as she recognized the feeling of her chest lifting, her satin-covered breasts exposed to the cooler air of the room as the comforter was pulled back from her shoulders. Had Itachi opened a window, she wondered? It was more daring than usual, but he never left her wanting, so she allowed the trespass. What did he have in mind for tonight?

The hands securing hers above her tousled hair relaxed and released her fingers after a comforting squeeze.

Unused to the tension around her wrists, Sakura pulled her hands closer to her body again to relax her spine, breathing deeply of Itachi’s scent.

Uncertainty wormed its way through the periphery of her contentment as she tugged again, unable to loosen her wrists or free her hands.

A trickle of fear followed on the heels of her uncertainty as she realized the scent engulfing her was not Itachi’s, but rather, Uchiha Madara’s.

***

 

The room was warm, dark, and perfect.

Wiping the moisture from the corner of his smirk with his thumb, Madara swallowed. With languid grace he slid from beneath Sakura’s covers, his body naked from the waist up. He couldn’t pull his hungry eyes from the slight parting of her lips. The sounds she had made as his tongue plumbed her core had shaken his self control, and he knew he would be replacing her bedsheets in the morning. His fingers had sunk so deep into her mattress as her hips had risen to press against his lips that he’d barely held back from devouring her.

This was what the clan legends had prepared him for.

This was a true Mating.

Haruno Sakura was the one that would take him, take all of him, and propel the Uchiha towards even greater success and power.

Madara stood and finished undressing, his clothes collected together in a neat pile before he approached the bed again. He shifted the blankets from her legs, baring Sakura’s flushed, aroused pulse to his eager eyes. He feasted on her with his eyes a moment before pulling her nighty down back over her hips to withstand temptation. With deft hands, he pulled the blanket away further, revealing the sensual shape of Sakura’s firm, rounded breasts and the hints of their tips. 

Sakura remained asleep to his surprise, and he mentally, if grudgingly, congratulated Shisui. Obviously Shisui had more experience sating his women than his younger cousin, Itachi. It wouldn’t surprise Madara if Sakura did agree with Itachi to invite Shisui into their triad. He replaced the comforter for a moment as he considered the possibility; it was too high for his liking.

The line of Madara’s brow dipped. This made it even more pressing that he prevent  _ their  _ triad from being sealed… and supplanted it instead with his own.

Madara’s fingers tightened around the comforter for a moment before he peeled it back just an inch more. The creamy nightdress enticed him wickedly, and out of curiosity he continued his perusal of her relaxed form. Madara untangled the last of the blankets from Sakura’s gently rising and falling chest.

Taking his time, Madara parted Sakura’s knees to spread them like the petals of a delicate flower. Next, with sinuous movements he climbed in-between her knees again, lifting them over his shoulders and settling his pelvis at the apex of her thighs, all the while massaging her from calves to her flanks. He enjoyed her body’s reactions, so soft and sweetly presented to him. Already he could see the faint pulse of heat, the dew collecting in preparation for him. Her body recognized him, he thought with smug pride.

The promise of Sakura’s renewing arousal reassured Madara, for the cure he’d laced her food with earlier had done nothing to harm her. In fact, it had relieved her of the unnecessary block that had been imposed upon her. She probably thought he had poisoned her with the food that day, when in fact it was the opposite. He had released her true self by eliminating the seal some damned fool—and he would find out who—had ignorantly placed upon her. She should be free to indulge in her true nature, to let it override her inhibitions. Free to tremble and scream from the resonance of her release in her true form like she had during their previous night together, when he’d glimpsed that hidden side of her himself. Glimpsed it, and realised that someone else had caged her like a dangerous animal. She was anything but. Wild, certainly, but not dangerous.

Who had dared cage such a rare, ethereal creature as Sakura, he wondered. It was a crime. A crime he would punish, later, but one he would rectify here, now, in her own bed. She would learn and accept, her true self with him that night.

With the ligature snug around Sakura’s wrists, Madara leaned back to admire his work. The binding was even and flat. The rounds of his tie, separating her palms, were level and smooth. It had been a long time since he’d had the opportunity to indulge in such accessorizing, however the finished product was more than worth the effort. 

And, as Madara had imagined, against her pale skin the smooth, inky silk was breathtaking. Each loop was perfectly aligned, supporting and immobilizing and providing just enough yield to give the initial impression of an opportunity for escape before it would pull taut and tether his goddess in place.

Madara’s initial appraisal was correct; Itachi had never deserved her. It was time to make him aware of that fact. It was time to make Sakura aware of that fact, too, and that many things were going to change.   
  
It was time for Sakura to be revered like the goddess she was at Madara’s side.

Hearing Sakura’s murmuring, Madara leaned over her and grazed her lips with his. He kept the contact light—promising, teasing, enticing. A hint of reassurance and a promise of rewards to come. He had ensured Shisui’s mistake would not take hold, and spent time nuzzling her to coax her into gentle response, his heart lightening as she curled herself around him. He took her hands in his, checking the tension of the bindings one last time. As she relaxed beneath him, body softening against his, he stroked her hair.

Finally, Madara let more of his pheromones seep in around them, imprinting themselves on Sakura’s senses to blend with the pleasure, safety and trust she felt. The association would take quickly, he presumed, especially in light of their previous compatibility.

Nonetheless, Madara was ready when Sakura tensed and bucked up against him, then viciously tried to throw him off a split-second later.

Madara couldn’t help the chuckle that rose low in his throat. He didn’t miss the shiver that ran through Sakura’s body at the sound.

He didn’t want to pass up any opportunity to be a part of her life.

***

“What do you think you’re doing!”

Sakura shook with anger as she flung an obviously aroused, naked Madara away from her body. She tried to grab for the bedsheets to cover herself, only to find them out of her tethered reach. Her glare hardened.

“You should know how important consent is in this day and age,” she spat.

“You consented.” Madara smirked down at her as he grabbed her legs to hold them still.

Sakura growled and struggled, in spite of how much her body urged her to soften and surrender to Madara. 

“What did you put in my food?” she demanded. Her fisted hands tested and twisted in their restraints.

“Hn? Something to assist you with making your decisions,” he said, massaging her calves. “It made you taste delicious.”

Already flushed from anger, Sakura ignored how much further her blush spread. It seemed to amuse Madara, however, as he chuckled at her deepening colour. 

“You’re almost as rosy as your—”

Sakura jerked her leg again roughly to try and dislodge Madara.

“I don’t need you. Itachi is coming for me.”

Madara chuckled low in his throat. 

“Is he? Because I don’t see him here. I haven’t heard him knocking.”

“You can’t manipulate me like this like this. And you haven’t answered my question. What was in the food?”

He eyed her appraisingly before returning to stroke her legs again.

“Do you know what you are, Sakura?”

“Extremely dangerous when angered,” she replied evenly.

Madara smirked sinfully before his lips parted in a true grin.

“True,” he agreed in a patronizing tone. “But more deeply inside, what your true nature is. Has anyone explained it to you?”

With her arms tethered above her head, Sakura’s chest rose and fell. But she had no answer. And she desperately needed answers. She glared at Madara murderously, but wordlessly. Unfortunately he was right.

He accepted her meaningful silence. Then his features changed, becoming thoughtful. 

“They hid that from you, too, didn’t they?” 

To Sakura’s surprise, Madara’s voice was almost warm, his dark eyes compassionate in spite of his condescending, abhorrent behaviour. She wasn’t sure what to make of the change in him, that knowing way he looked at her as if he understood her, understood she had been wronged in some way she did not yet understand. It disarmed her, and her determination strayed as a result. The strength of her glare faded as she found herself listening to him against her will.

“Sakura, there are many different kinds of people in the world, as you know. The Uchiha are a very particular type; and you are another rare, equally particular type. The perfect type for Uchihas, in fact, which is a rare breed indeed,” he said, stroking her leg. 

Madara’s voice had a low, husky purr to it that set Sakura's blood coursing swiftly, like a spring-melt river. His timbre left her vulnerable to her weakening resolve, her anger changing, now feeding her arousal and pushing against their banks. Her body, in spite of her efforts, began to warm to his hypnotic words, and like a riverbank swelling from rising floodwater, she softened to his voice. 

The quiet air between them thickened and Sakura’s eyes lowered to half-mast as she listened to Madara speak, his voice lulling her into submission with its thrall. Her tight shoulders relaxed, her fingers released their tension. Her legs lowered, no longer fighting the man between them. Muscle by muscle she relaxed, cushioning him in the cradle of her thighs instead of fighting him. Welcoming him instead of rejecting him.

Slowly, as each part of Sakura was coaxed to surrender, Madara began to lean over her. He reached out with an impossibly gentle hand and lifted a lock of her hair free from her ear. His long-fingered hand remained beside her head, stroking her cheek as he watched her, his gaze calm, peaceful, and intent.

“The Uchiha are a clan of alphas; we prefer to be dominant in all manner of pursuit. We enjoy the thrill of the hunt, the chase, the triumph of victory. It’s what makes us so potent. Does that make sense, Sakura?”

Madara’s voice was lower, quieter, entreating Sakura to respond and participate. 

Sakura nodded. To her lessening shame and mounting interest, a part of her wanted to lift and meet Madara halfway. To curl into him and be surrounded by him, his scent, his warmth, his love. While he looked into her eyes, he lowered himself down, closing the distance between them.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Madara’s. Everything around them gradually faded away until he became her entire focus. Of course she wanted to be with him. There was so much they could do for each other. So many ways they could please each other. So much they could show each other. Her heart beat harder with a rush of emotion as he took her bound hands in his, his elbows resting on either side of her, closing her off from the rest of the room when his long hair swept over his shoulders to cocoon them.

“For us to thrive, we require partners of equal status. Partners who will push us to become even stronger, better than we are; who will appreciate when we push them just as hard to succeed. We require those of omega nature, Sakura, to love, cherish, and protect, and who will love and protect us, too. Who will be faithful to us as we dedicate ourselves to them. Who will understand our urges to mate and care for our clan, and not just welcome, but encourage them.”

Madara closed his captivating, midnight eyes a moment, swallowing lightly, before lowering his head to whisper in Sakura’s ear,

“You are the one, Sakura.”

Sakura’s heart stopped, then fluttered traitorously. He made sense.

The hand not stroking hers slipped beneath her head to angle her, lifting her mouth as her lips parted.

“Your heart and mind are in conflict. Let me convince them to work together,” whispered Madara, brushing his lips tenderly over hers but never quite kissing her. Instead, he stole her breath away. “You will feel freedom and power like you’ve never known when you do,” he promised.

Lowering himself inch by inch atop Sakura, but being mindful to never place his full weight on her, Madara leaned his head back slightly and watched Sakura’s reactions through his wild hair. Not once did he reach for her breasts, or even try to align himself at her entrance. At this point he knew her body; what he sought now was acceptance from her soul. He restrained himself as he restrained her. 

Madara was waiting for her permission, Sakura realized.

Through Sakura’s fog of manipulated hormones and restlessness, she looked deep into Madara’s eyes, barely inches from hers, as his warm breath fanned her cheeks. Controlling, egotistical, condescending, dangerous. Those were part of Madara’s psychological profile, and not in meager measure. The passion, devotion and attention he accorded her were also part of the man poised over her, as was his obsessive, possessive nature. Now she understood that part of it was due to his ‘alpha’ nature. Was that all it was, though? Or was there something deeper motivating him?

Was Sakura’s instinctive urge to submit to Madara part of the tangled web of her ‘omega’ nature? Was that what had driven her to behave so uninhibited in his studio? 

“Why did you tell me all this?” asked Sakura, trying to make sense of everything.

“Because you should have been told long ago, so that you could make your decisions based on all the facts, instead of being at the whim of your urges,” said Madara, voice low and patient. “Our first time together was out of necessity, and should not have happened as it did. You, as an Uchiha mate, deserve all the knowledge available to you. As such, I made myself available to you.”

Madara chuckled faintly then, before giving her a small smirk.

“Not that you took advantage of me,” he added. “It’s nice to be depended upon, you know. Uchiha are natural-born providers.”

“What if I want to, now?” asked Sakura quietly. Her eyes focused on Madara’s lips.

“What do you want?” asked Madara, lowering himself further onto Sakura.

Sakura’s pulse raced as she felt him, every inch of him, from core to sternum. Her legs relaxed open, welcoming him.

She met his gaze again. “You—”

Madara’s length pulsed against Sakura’s lower belly before she shifted her hips, and he flexed, aligning them intimately.

“—inside me—”

Madara’s quick intake of breath, though he tried to muffle it, was too close to Sakura’s ears for her to miss.

“—Ma-da-ra,” she finished, enunciating each syllable clearly as he sank into her, inch by inch with a groan of deep, husky, male satisfaction.

Knowing what it did to Madara, Sakura held his gaze as he filled her.

The hand holding Sakura’s had tightened to squeezing as her lips fell open on a faint gasp of grateful wanting. Madara’s heartbeat thudded rapidly against her breast, and the look of feral animalism she had expected to contort his face was instead taken up by one of relief and longing. His eyes softened as he smiled at her in wonder, all greed and ego vanished before he closed his eyes and arched his back with a soft moan.

Yet Madara didn’t immediately start thrusting. He took a long, shuddering breath, and what came out of his mouth had to be wrong, because Sakura could have sworn he said, “Thank you.”

Once more, Sakura’s heart stuttered.

This wasn’t what she expected.

Nor was the long, slow, toe-curling kiss Madara placed upon her lips as he began a tantalizing, patient, undulating grind against her core, sinking ever deeper inside her and yet never pushing or demanding. In fact, his languid pace seemed more for her benefit as he stroked her hair and cheeks, tilting her head to entice her to participate in the kiss, one that was so full of passion and love that she felt tears— _ tears _ —gathering in the corners of her eyes and slipping down her cheeks.

Confused by her body’s demands for more, and her heart’s pull to surrender and just connect with the man making love to her like she was his moon and stars, Sakura choked on her building emotions.

“Shhhhh,” murmured Madara, kissing her cheeks, nuzzling her, releasing her hand to wrap his arms around her and hold her.

Her fingers grasping at nothing, Sakura shook and struggled.

“You,” she begged. “I need to touch you. Please!”

It had to be a trick of the light, in that moment, as she caught the emotion that flickered across Madara’s face. Pure, genuine happiness.

Madara’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he swallowed, twice, then reached up to undo her bindings without another thought.

Finally free, Sakura’s hands immediately flew to Madara’s shoulders, wrapping around him and pulling him close. All she could do was hold him, burying her face in his shoulder as he returned to embracing her, their emotions too powerful and raw for them to articulate in any other way than simply sharing comfort. His hips stilled as he simply sank into her, part of her, one.

When the weight on her chest became too much, Sakura pulled away only enough to breathe. 

Madara lifted his weight from Sakura in understanding, carefully rolling onto his side to gaze at her, her leg still hung over his hip. Her head rested on his shoulder until they gradually turned further, finishing with Madara on his back. Sakura lay atop his chest, her fingers tangled in Madara’s hair, her eyes closed as she took a deep breath of Madara’s comforting scent. She filled her lungs with it, felt her body relax with it, let the calm and peace envelope her and quiet the last of her worries. 

How long had it been since she felt so accepted, treasured, and at ease? Was this how Madara felt, too?

Was this that strange condition he spoke of? Was there more?

Through their position changes, he had remained firmly inside her; and even that was a comfort to her.

How strange, she thought, taking another long, sweet inhale of the man beneath her. How wonderful this connection felt, how natural and sexual, yet not necessarily arousing. Like fitting together two perfect puzzle pieces.

Smiling against Madara’s pectoral, Sakura sighed gently, happily. She idly traced the nipple across from her with her fingertip, delighting when it puckered and tightened to its own dark bud.

The arms around her tightened.

“Sakura.” Madara’s voice rumbled quietly between them in warning.

“Mmmm?”

Sakura turned her head to the side. The other nipple was just there. It shouldn’t be left out, she decided. 

Madara’s quick hiss was all the confirmation Sakura needed for encouragement as she began suckling and tonguing him.

Deep inside her, Sakura felt Madara’s sizeable length twitch.

Like a switch had been flipped, suddenly Sakura’s arousal spiked higher than it ever had. Sakura instinctively bore down on Madara and squeezed every inch of his girth, gasping as he bucked up inside her. Her hands planted themselves on his chest and she pushed herself up, then dropped down again, just to feel him move inside her.

“Yes,” Sakura breathed, desperately grateful. She rolled her hips against Madara’s, a pleased sigh releasing from her lips. 

Madara grabbed Sakura’s hips and dragged them both further up the bed so he could rest against the headboard and watch her ride him.

“Go slow,” said Madara. “I want you to use every inch of me for your pleasure.”

“No knot,” said Sakura.

Madara’s grip tightened on Sakura’s flanks.

“I can’t move the way I want when you’re so big inside me,” she explained, cheeks pinking. “Could you hold back? Just for a while. For me?”

Sakura met Madara’s fathomless eyes, and to her surprise, he leaned back and nodded, gritting his teeth. Then the tightness in his jaw relaxed, and his brows, so fiercely knotted before, fell to the side.

“I will restrain myself. For you, Sakura,” he whispered, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. He rose then, and kissed her deeply as he began moving inside her once more. “My mate.”

They began moving together in sync, Sakura following him down to continue their kiss as Madara’s hands threaded through her hair before falling to circle her petite waist and hold her close.

That was how Itachi found them.

***

Madara let his heart open and feel, feel everything, freely, for the first time in ages. 

The scent of Sakura, his mate—sweet gods, his  _ mate _ —holding him, holding him inside her, surrounding him.

The feel of Sakura cherishing him, trusting him, relying on him to control himself—of course he would, for her.

The way she looked down at him as she rode him with sinuous ease—as if she were meant to, as if she found his erection was the perfect fit for her—while she gazed at him with love and adoration, made his heart swell. He redoubled his efforts to please her, feeling himself swell inside her dangerously. Immediately he tightened his self-control, sweat breaking out across his brow as his jaw clenched. 

Sakura took that moment to squeeze him tighter inside her, and Madara’s head fell back with a moan of agonized, tortured self-control. She wasn’t making it easy on him to keep his promise.

Then Sakura chuckled, and Madara knew she was teasing him. Teasing him playfully. Sakura cared for him, Madara realized, the tightness in his throat growing. She cared for him as a man, not just as the head of the Uchiha. 

Perhaps, now, he could ask; just a small knot?

A full mating required at least one…

Madara looked up at her, the words on his lips, when he saw her expression.

His heart clenched.

Something had changed.

***

“Now that I have your attention, we’re going to talk,” said Sakura, her voice quiet and far too controlled for Madara’s liking.

Sakura looked down at Madara, then more meaningfully at the intimate place where they were joined. With a subtle movement of her hips, she lifted, just a little, just enough to feel him glide and let him know she understood her control. His hands came to her hips to still her, but she continued, achingly slowly, until just the tip of him was still within her warm, protective embrace. 

Then, as she held his gaze, Sakura spoke. Her voice was gentle and calm, and yet she felt the hair on his arms lift as his skin pebbled at her words.  

“You see, you only want me when you think you can own me. But let’s imagine that happens. Let’s imagine that you, Itachi and I form a triad, yet you remain as you are. You won’t be happy. You will never be truly happy. In fact, it will make you unhappy, unsatisfied… unfulfilled.”

Madara’s possessive, strong hands gripped her hips as he smirked at her, as smug as ever.

“You know so little of me, my omega.”

Sakura rose another half-inch, the cool air snaking between them like living tendrils she commanded at a whim. Madara’s expression froze.

“I know everything about you. You hold yourself away from your clan. In part because you are so overconfident, but also because while they are kin, you feel no true kinship with anyone. You are alone. You think that having me, physically, will fulfill you, emotionally.” Sakura looked down at Madara with something akin to disappointment. 

Madara’s eyes were heated, his chest rising and falling faster even as his jaw clenched to leash his dangerous emotions.

Sakura ignored him and pressed on.

“But it doesn’t work like that, Madara. My heart lies with Itachi, forever and always. You would be a pill; a way to prevent unwanted pregnancies. But so what? Honestly. Let’s imagine that after a moment of intimacy between me and Itachi, we call on you. And after a few minutes the deed is done, so then you go. That would be it. It would end after that. That would happen, over and over again, and you would leave over and over and over again.”

Sakura canted her head. From the open doorway another draft filtered through the chilly room. A lock of rose hair tickled Sakura’s nose. Unknowingly, she had twisted the knife she had sunk in Madara’s chest. 

“And what would happen when Itachi and I, once married, decided we did want children?”

As Sakura swept the hair from her face, she missed the genuine anguish that flashed through Madara’s eyes at her mention of children. She missed the lines that deepened in and aged his handsome face. 

“We wouldn’t need you at all. You would be alone again. We may call on you once in a while, in several years’ time, but then you would leave again immediately after. Congratulations to you… You would be temporarily sated. But after that, you would be alone. You would enjoy the physical for a while, but there would be no emotion. Think about this long-term, Madara. Never having someone to care about you. Only calling you when they needed something from you. Never calling you to care for you, or give to you; just taking from you. You would tire of it. You would bore of it. You would become unhappier because you don’t care about others, only yourself. You would never father a child, you would never form bonds, you would never have anyone to teach, or love.” 

With masterful control Sakura lifted until he rested against her outer lips.

“You would never be fulfilled. You would never be happy. You would never, truly, be part of us. Because of who you are.” She shook her head at him, holding herself still as his hands now rested on her flanks. “The distance you keep from others, I don’t want that in my life. You may keep it.” She looked up at Itachi, who stood so patiently at her door, watching her, his pain clear in his eyes. “I have someone who has gone out of his way to close the distance in his life, who has leapt from his comfort zone to help me whenever I needed it, and who cherishes me not for my physical self, but for how happy we make each other. That is love. That is love that closes the distance between others. That’s what I want.”

Letting her love shine through her eyes as she held Itachi’s gaze, Sakura watched his shoulders relax.

Then she looked down at Madara, her expression pitying.

“Until you learn how to treat those around you like people, instead of pawns to be manipulated, I have no need of you. Others are more than willing to join me and Itachi and help us if we need it. Genuinely help us, not seek some kind of advantage,” Sakura said, her disgust evident in her last sentence. “I’m sure you have much to offer, but you aren’t here to help anyone other than yourself, Madara.” 

With that, Sakura lifted her hips and Madara felt himself bounce against his abdomen.

He hadn’t even spilled an ounce.

She had controlled him so thoroughly, Madara hadn’t even come inside her at all.

Confused, his anger building, Madara grabbed for Sakura as she stood, but she smacked his hands away. With Itachi’s help, she climbed off her bed and put on her bathrobe. With the bathrobe knot tied, she turned to look down her nose at Madara as he sat among her rumpled sheets.

“You know nothing,” Madara said lowly.

“Prove me wrong,” she replied over her shoulder. “And get out.”

Sliding her arm around Itachi, Sakura guided her fiancé back to the living room. 

Several minutes later, the door to her apartment opened and shut tightly. Not a slam, but something very carefully controlled.

It sent shivers down Sakura’s spine. Making an enemy of Madara wasn’t wise, but neither would she roll over for, or under, him again.

Her stomach clenched at the violence of the door’s noise, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Itachi reached a tentative hand towards her, making her smile shakily.

Wrapping her arms around him, she buried her face in his chest, breathing him in and basking in his quiet, confident strength.

“Thank you for letting me handle that on my own,” she said.   
  
“You were magnificent,” he breathed, holding her close and kissing the crown of her hair.

* * *

 

THE END.


End file.
